Elanor's Revenge
by Juliediane
Summary: Determined to punish Haldir for toying with her sister’s affections, Elanor undertakes to teach him a lesson. Will she succeed? Or will Haldir turn the tables on her? COMPLETE
1. Chapter One

**Authors:** Julie & Fianna

**Disclaimer:** We write fan fiction solely for our own enjoyment and do not claim any copyright or ownership nor do we have intent to make financial gain. All original concepts and characters are from our minds and remain our property.

**Warnings:** Het Romance

**Cast:** Haldir/OFC, Elrond, Galadriel, Celeborn, Rúmil, Orophin, other OCs

**Timeline:** A.U. not following movie verse or canon

**Summary:** Determined to punish Haldir for toying with her sister's affections, Elanor undertakes to teach him a lesson. Will she succeed? Or will Haldir turn the tables on her?

**Chapter One**

**"**He is coming here at last! The March Warden of Lothlórien! My true love!"

Tossing her golden hair over her shoulder, Lana waltzed around the room, her blue skirt swishing as she moved. "Can you believe it? Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn have accepted this year's invitation to Arwen's birthday celebration, and you know they always bring Haldir along for protection." The beautiful elven maiden clasped her hands in front of her, almost rubbing them together in glee. "By this time next week, I shall be reunited with the one who adores me!"

Smothering a sigh, Elanor glared at the embroidery panel she was attempting to form into a pillow cover, but the mangled threads seemed to mock her every effort. Setting it aside with secret relief, she transferred her gaze to her younger sister, quietly assessing her as she continued to enthuse about her so-called suitor. Lana had many admirers, but Elanor was not so sure that Haldir of Lórien was one of them.

Elanor frowned, thinking of the Lothlórien Guardian. Lana had not seen him for two years, yet her sister's heart seemed fixed on him more firmly than ever. "You are certainly excited about seeing him again," she commented.

"Of course I am!" Lana said fervently. "I have missed him so! I love him so much!"

"But Lana, dear, he has not even written to you. I am afraid that he will break your heart. I have heard he is considered quite a catch in Lothlórien, but no female has as yet managed to hold his interest for very long. Perhaps he has long forgotten you." Elanor tried to say the words gently, but she saw the flash of annoyance that crossed Lana's face.

"He has not forgotten me!" her sister snapped, and stomped her little foot. "He is only busy. Very busy. And he told me he does not like to write letters. But I know he cares for me. I told you how well we'd got on the last time he was here. He looked at no one but me! Only me! And I have given him my heart. Oh, Elanor, he is so perfect! You cannot believe what an excellent kisser he is!"

Elanor gritted her teeth. For two years she had had to listen to Lana rave about the March Warden's virtues. She had heard about his accomplishments, his high rank, his masculine attributes, his beautiful eyes, his soft hair, his hard muscles . . . the list seemed as endless as Lana's adoration. And yet this so-called perfect elf had never deigned to write poor Lana a letter.

Elanor did not like him. She did not like him at all.

"Well, I think you were foolish to leap into such a strong relationship so quickly," she said firmly. "He'd only been here a few days. And you have nothing at all in common with him."

Lana laughed airily. "Nonsense! It was love at first sight, Ellie! You are only jealous because he didn't choose you." Humming a nonsense tune in her throat, she whirled about the room, her long hair flaring out from where it hung heavy and straight down her back. "But then, you were not even here, were you? You arrived just as he was leaving."

Remembering that moment, Elanor frowned. Yes, she had seen Haldir several times, and even admired him in a silly sort of way, but they had never actually met. And that last time, two years ago, she had been passing through the courtyard just when he was exiting Lord Elrond's residence. The March Warden had stood on the steps and looked straight at her, then proceeded to give her the most thorough masculine assessment she had ever received. And then he had smiled at her, a slow, lazy smile that could have curled her toes if she were not so sensible. It had taken all Elanor's resolve not to blush quite scarlet. His piercing look had burned her, made her more conscious than ever of how alone she sometimes felt, and how much she yearned for masculine company. But not his.

To add to this, she had had the oddest feeling that he had intended to walk over and speak to her, but then the Lord and Lady of Lórien had emerged, along with Lord Elrond, and Haldir's attention had been diverted. Elanor had turned and left, but she remembered all too clearly how she had taken one last glance over her shoulder, and in doing so, had caught Haldir's eye once more. And he had _winked_ at her! _This_ was the elf who was supposedly in love with her sweet, innocent little sister! Of course she had told Lana none of this.

"I do not know what it is you see in him," she said, aware that she sounded prudish, "I have always heard that he is arrogant and overbold in his behavior."

Lana scowled and turned away. "Well, you are wrong. He is sweet and romantic."

Elanor stared at her sister. "Romantic? Sweet? From what I have heard, an Orc would be sweeter in disposition than Lothlórien's March Warden. He is known for his haughtiness and hardened temperament, and from what I've seen it is no exaggeration." She pushed aside the memory of his wink, which had seemed more flirtatious than haughty.

"Perhaps he is that way with his wardens, but with me he is romantic! Elanor, he gave me a . . . a flower when we walked together in the garden. And then he kissed me many times. Many, many times. And more than kissed."

"More than kissed?" Elanor repeated carefully. "You did not tell me this before. Exactly what do you mean, Lana?"

Lana giggled. "Come, Ellie, do not tell me you do not know! Are you really that inexperienced?"

"Are you saying you gave yourself to him?" Elanor asked steadily.

Lana lifted her chin. "Do I have to spell it out? I told you, we fell in love, and I will say no more than that. If I gave myself to him, well, it is none of your concern." She must finally have realized how distressed Elanor was, for she ran over to give her a hug. "You worry too much about me, Ellie. I will be fine." With a light laugh, she left the room.

Elanor rubbed a hand across her brow, and sighed. Yes, she worried a great deal about Lana. Her little sister was far too free with her heart, and too easily swayed by male flattery. Lana was far, far too beautiful for her own good, with her golden hair, blue eyes, and perfect features. If Haldir broke Lana's heart, if he was only toying with her beloved sister, then by the Valar he was going to pay. Elanor clenched her teeth. And she'd be the one to make him do it.

x

Lana hurried from the solar and out into Elanor's small, well-tended garden. It was surrounded by a low stone wall, and she could hear the peaceful rush of the river on the other side. Their home sat on the lower course of the city, at the river's edge, parts of their home even overhanging the flowing water. Usually, the sound of the water soothed her, but not today. Lana flopped down onto a small stone bench and tapped her foot irritably.

This time she might have gone too far. She'd worked herself so deeply into her web of lies that she wasn't sure how she was going to get free. She groaned, leaning against the cool stone wall, scarcely noticing the heavy fragrance from the wisteria behind her head, crushed against the wall. What was she going to do?

Scowling, she folded her arms over her chest, tapping one finger against her mouth. Elanor was not going to believe that Haldir loved her if she saw them together. The humiliating truth was that he'd snubbed her when she had tried to flirt with him. He'd given her an amused look, lifted an eyebrow, and walked away, leaving her with his brother, Rúmil! To add to this, she'd seen the look he'd given Elanor that day in the courtyard two years ago. Lana had been standing on a nearby balcony, hoping to catch a glimpse of him before he left. She'd been looking particularly fetching, and she had hoped to make him sorry for treating her so badly. And then, Lana remembered angrily, and then he'd looked at _Ellie_ in just the way she'd wanted him to look at _her_! In fact, he had given Ellie more of his time in that one look than he'd given Lana the whole two weeks he'd been in Rivendell!

Oooooh, it still made her furious, even now! And so the lie had begun.

Lana couldn't let Elanor know that all the stories she'd told her were lies. Elanor loved her, and thought the sun rose and set on her dear little sister, as she rightly should. Lana considered herself one of the most beautiful elf-maidens in Rivendell, quite as lovely as Arwen Evenstar herself, in fact. Haldir _should_ have loved her. And he should _not_ have looked at Ellie. It was all wrong. Quite wrong. Elanor was merely pretty, and she was serious and quiet and not at all flirtatious. Males didn't notice her, as a rule, at least not while Lana was around.

Lana rose, kicking at the flowers near the bench, uncaring of her sister's labor. What was she going to do? She must find a way out of this, a way that did not make her look like a fool. And quickly. Elanor might believe the stories, but she also had good eyes, and caught the nuances and subtle looks all too well. All at once, Lana's eyes grew wide as a plan came to her, and a tiny smile curved her lips. Of course! Of course!

Lana whirled about the garden, suddenly conscious of the flowers that she had trampled. She knelt down and picked one up, one whose petals already drooped in despair. She would be the wilted flower. She would droop with despair, and make Haldir look like a complete scoundrel. People might feel sorry for her, but at least Elanor would not know about the lies. Lana threw down the flower and resumed her humming while she mulled over her plan. First, she would give him one last chance.

x

Haldir stood at the window of his assigned quarters, gazing out at the pleasing view of the river and the joyous tumble of a nearby waterfall. He did not normally attend such events as Arwen Evenstar's birthday celebrations. He and some of his wardens accompanied the Lord and Lady of Lórien whenever they traveled from Lothlórien to Rivendell in order to give them additional protection, something he felt to be his duty. They did not come every year; indeed it had been two years since last they had made the journey.

He turned from the window with a sigh. The only reason he intended to attend tonight was because he had encountered Arwen herself unexpectedly, and she had expressly invited him. It would have been undiplomatic and churlish to refuse, even though he would have preferred to explore the gardens and pathways of Rivendell instead. The only consolation he could think of was that he might be fortunate enough to come across that dark-haired maiden again, the one he'd seen last time he was here. He did not exactly recall her face, but he knew he would recognize her if he saw her again. He remembered her eyes. And her figure.

A short while later, he stood in the largest room of the House of Elrond, his hand wrapped around a goblet of wine while his eyes roved over the crowd. He saw Elrond, Galadriel and Celeborn chatting with Arwen and a few visiting council members. Elladan and Elrohir were due to arrive although they had been known to be quite late for such events. Rúmil and Orophin were also here somewhere, and ought to be showing up any moment now.

Feeling unsociable, Haldir retired to an alcove with a padded window seat where he could glance out upon a lovely garden. In times of peace, he would have a garden of his own, he thought. Suddenly, a hand touched his arm, and he turned. Valar spare him, it was that blonde again, the one who had done her best to attach his interest two years ago. It had taken him only a glance to see her for what she was—a vain, spoiled, naïve young maiden who expected every male she met to fall at her feet. Such elleths bored him to death.

"Good evening, Haldir," she said, batting her long, golden eyelashes at him. "Do you remember me?"

"Aye," he said resignedly. This time neither of his brothers was here to help him out. Last time, he recalled, he had managed to leave her with Rúmil, who had commented later that she had not been at all pleased by such treatment. A brat, Rúmil had called her, which Haldir assumed meant that his youngest brother had been unsuccessful in any attempt to seduce the maiden. Or perhaps Rúmil was actually developing better taste.

"You do not look like the memory is a pleasing one," she retorted.

He thought she sounded a little snappish. Yes, his first assessment was correct; this one was spoiled rotten. He would have to put her in her place as carefully as possible.

"The memory is hardly a memory at all," he said, keeping his face neutral. "It is neither pleasing nor displeasing."

She stared at him for a long moment, then she turned on her heel and walked away. Perhaps he had been too harsh, he reflected, then decided that he hadn't. That maiden had likely broken many hearts without a second thought or a regret. She needed to realize her own lack of importance and learn some humility. A little discipline wouldn't hurt either. Whoever was in charge of her had let her get away with far too much. He thanked the Gods she wasn't his responsibility.

Once more, he glanced around the room, and saw no one of interest to him, so he decided to take a walk in Elrond's private garden. He recalled it from his last visit; it was quite outstanding.

x

Elanor had witnessed the exchange from her vantage point behind a potted plant on the far side of the room, and she was furious. How dared Haldir treat sweet, innocent Lana in such a cruel and heartless manner! She watched Lórien's notorious guardian leave the alcove and move to the opposite end of the room. Now he was heading out the door that led to Lord Elrond's private garden. How tempted she was to follow him and give him a piece of her mind!

Fuming inwardly, she raised her glass of wine to her lips and drained it. It was a strong wine, stronger than the sort she normally drank, and she could already feel its effects, especially since she had not yet had anything to eat. Well, perhaps it was all to the good, because giving the March Warden of Lothlórien a scolding suddenly seemed quite appealing. The wine provided that extra bit of courage that she needed.

Threading her way through the crowd, she reached the door to the garden and slipped through, closing it firmly behind her. She paused to listen, wondering if there were others out here, but she could hear nothing. She could not see Haldir; he must already have rounded the hedge and entered the central part of the garden. Very well, then, she would go and find him.

She found him easily and paused again, taking time to observe him closely. He stood with his back to her, his fair hair streaming down his back, his hands clasped behind him in a casual stance. He was gazing at a small fountain surrounded by the flowers for which she was named, those lovely, delicate and pale blooms called elanor. The night was warm and dark, the garden lit by a single torch.

He turned as she approached, though she did not think she had made a sound. His eyes met hers and his dark finely arched brows lifted. He actually had the audacity to look pleased to see her.

"Good evening," he said. They were simple words, but seemed to contain a wealth of meaning beyond the obvious.

"March Warden," she said boldly, "I would have a word with you."

"You may have several words," he replied with a slight smile, "but first tell me your name."

"You do not need my name. You know another's name, do you not?"

His smile faded and his eyes narrowed. "A maiden who speaks in riddles. This should be interesting."

He strolled toward her, his keen gaze seeming to take in her every aspect. Elanor suddenly noticed that she was having difficulty breathing. He seemed larger than a moment before, and more imposing. Intimidating, even. He wore a tunic of dark blue, with a silver gray undertunic and black leggings, attire which set off his broad shoulders and muscular physique to perfect advantage. He looked magnificent, as he always did, although she should not be having such thoughts when she disliked him so much.

"You know perfectly well what I am saying," she said stiffly. "And I have come here to tell you that I find your behavior reprehensible. You should be ashamed of yourself!"

He drew back a little, as though she had insulted him. "Indeed. And which behavior would you be referring to?"

"I know not why you play these games! I saw what happened! I have heard of nothing but Haldir, Haldir, Haldir for the past two years, and I tell you I am sick of it!" The wine had indeed made her reckless, yet she heard the small warning bell tolling in her head. This was not just any elf. She needed to tread warily.

He circled her like an arrogant cat, and abruptly his hand was on her shoulder, sliding down her arm, locking on her wrist. His fingers were warm and very strong. "I know not of what you speak, but I will tell you this—I would not accept such words or such a tone from one of my wardens. Do you know what I would do if one of them addressed me in such a way?"

"I neither know nor care." She attempted to pull away from him, but he did not allow it. "Release me at once," she ordered, "or I shall scream."

"Try it, and I will stop you, and in a way you might not like. Or perhaps you _would_ enjoy my methods," he added suavely. "But I have not harmed you. Why would I? I would rather kiss you."

Elanor gasped, astounded by his flagrant boldness and disregard for her sister. Even if he and Lana had ended whatever sort of relationship they had—which they must have done, judging by Lana's face when she had left him—it had only been several minutes ago! And here he was, flirting with her, if such it could be called.

"You are despicable!" She tried to twist from her grasp, and to her surprise he let her go. She rubbed her wrist and glared at him, and he returned her look.

"I know not what I have done to offend you," he said evenly. "We have never even spoken. But if I have truly injured you in some way, I apologize for it."

Now he was trying a different method of enticement, and it was far more effective, for she could feel herself melting, wanting to forgive him. Wanting to touch him . . .

Sweet Elbereth, what was she thinking? This was only a ploy to get her to lower her guard. No doubt he had been honing such skills for centuries. Well, she was not going to fall for it! She was much wiser than Lana, who clearly had not been able to see past his very handsome exterior.

"I do not accept your apology," she informed him in a scathing tone. "You are a scoundrel, Haldir of Lórien, and if I had my way—"

She gasped as one of his hands closed on her upper arm and the other went around her waist, pulling her against him. "If I had _my_ way, that lovely mouth of yours would not be talking." He stared down at her, his jaw hard. "I can think of a much better use for it."

And before she knew what was happening, he was kissing her. Elanor had been kissed a few times, but never by anyone who had aroused her very much. This was as different from those other embraces as light from shadow. For a few seconds she stood in pure shock as his mouth covered hers, his tongue nudging between her lips in a demanding way she had never experienced, and which sent shivers of desire racing down her spine. And to her horror, she realized that she was starting to return the kiss . . .

She grabbed great handfuls of his hair and yanked. "Let me go! How dare you!"

And he did let go. The look on his face baffled her, the play of emotions too fleeting to be analyzed. He gazed down at her and said nothing, the expression in his eyes telling her she had crossed a line that others dared not cross. But she was too furious to care.

"You are going to be sorry!" Her chest heaved with indignation and the pure agony of embarrassment derived from the knowledge that she had allowed him to know that she enjoyed his touch. "Very sorry," she repeated, almost on a sob.

He did not answer, but only walked past her and around the hedge. A moment later, she heard the door open and close, its sharp snap telling her that he was truly annoyed. Well, good! He was going to be a lot more annoyed by the time she finished with him. Never in her life had she felt such anger as she felt right now. On Lana's account, of course.

Still breathing hard, Elanor walked over and sat upon a stone bench, listening to the soft burble of the fountain, her mind a jumbled whirl of emotions as she looked up at the stars. Anger, frustration, and even desire all seethed inside her. How dared he kiss her! And he had never even acknowledged what he had done to Lana, but had neatly sidestepped the whole issue.

How devious he was! What had Lana seen in him? Besides his kisses, of course. Elanor now understood what Lana had meant when she had said he was a good kisser. He must be, to make her feel like that . . . oh, why was she thinking such thoughts? She touched a hand to her head. The wine was still affecting her . . . or was it him? Or both?

She must focus on Lana. She was _not_ going to let him get away with treating her sister like that. She needed a plan. What could she do to punish him?

And slowly, it came to her, the most daring, brazen, wanton idea she had ever had in her life. Dare she do it? Why not! He deserved it, and he would be so humbled when it was over that he would never tell anyone that a mere she-elf had gotten the better of him. Elanor would teach the arrogant March Warden a lesson that he'd not soon forget. But she would need help. Who?

Telrion. He was just the elf she needed to help her do it.

She would have to catch him quickly before he left for the evening. He was often bored with these kinds of celebrations, and preferred to return to his rooms to peruse his never ending piles of manuscripts. Heading down a path that led around the corner and down the hill, she soon found him where she had expected, inhaling the fragrance of Arwen's rose garden which he often passed on his way back to his quarters.

"Telrion?"

The Rivendell elf turned. He was very tall and lean, with light blue eyes and long waist length dark hair. His eyes glowed with amusement in the near darkness. He brushed back the hair from his face with elegant fingers.

"Oh, hello, Ellie. You are looking for me?"

Elanor smiled, and reached out and tucked her hand in his arm, pulling him deeper into the shadows of the garden. "Telrion, I need your help, yours and Minden's. You must find him quickly and meet me back here in half an hour."

Telrion patted her hand. "My dear, I would love to be of assistance, but the night is young. You should be at the party, dancing!"

Elanor tightened her grip on his arm. "Telrion, my dear friend, do you remember when I saved you from Lord Elrond's wrath last month? When you took that whole stack of parchments from his desk without permission? Ah, I see you do. Who was the one who distracted him while you slipped in and put them back? And do you remember you told me that when I needed help, you would be there for me? Well, tonight, I am calling in the favor."

Telrion puckered his lips, clearly recalling that he had indeed uttered those very words. "What do you need? Have you lost something? Has someone insulted you?" The elf straightened, the blue eyes flashing. "Shall I take this person to task?"

She shook her head. "Nay, it is more complicated than that. Please find Minden, then I will explain. Please, Telrion?"

He studied her for a moment, then gave a nod. "Very well then, Ellie. I will find Minden and meet you right here in half an hour." He bowed and left.

The time passed slowly, but at last they returned. The two elves were both tall, almost the same height with the same dark hair, though Minden's eyes were green. Minden was a rogue, mischievous and wily, forever getting into trouble. He was just the kind of elf she needed, Elanor reflected as she turned to greet them.

Minden bowed low over her hand, kissing it gallantly. "Telrion says you need a favor? This is unlike you, Elanor, so it must be quite important. I am most intrigued and honored to be included."

Elanor took a deep breath, knowing some of her courage had already departed. Still, she had to do this; for too long had she simply drifted along, accepting all that occurred without making any attempt to change the course of her life's stream. She would not back down; it was time to take control.

"I ask you, Minden, because you are exactly what I need. You both are." She gazed assessingly at the two Rivendell elves, her closest friends, cousins to each other and like brothers to her. They were also close friends of Elladan and Elrohir, and the fun-loving four were often being chastised by Lord Elrond for various scrapes and misadventures.

"And what is this favor you ask?" Telrion asked.

Elanor took a deep breath. "I need you to kidnap the March Warden of Lothlórien."

Telrion stared, and Minden burst out laughing. "How amusing," Minden said, between chuckles. "I could swear you just said you want us to kidnap the March Warden of Lothlórien." He scratched behind his ear and flipped his long hair over his shoulder.

Elanor lifted her chin. "That is exactly what I said."

The two elves gazed at her in disbelief, then exchanged a meaningful glance with each other. She'd never seen them nervous before, but that was definitely the emotion on their faces. She set her hands on her hips. "Are you afraid of Haldir?"

Telrion scowled. "I would not use the word 'afraid', Ellie. Terrified might be more accurate. Why in Arda's name do you want us to do such a foolish thing? Do you not realize the consequences that could follow?"

Elanor pushed this argument aside; she had already had it with herself. "That is not your concern. I will take full responsibility. I must do this for Lana. Haldir has taken liberties with her . . . broken her heart. I am going to punish him, that is all."

Telrion and Minden stared at her in confusion. "But Ellie, this is insane! Haldir has taken liberties? With Lana? Are you sure of what you say? Lana may well have encouraged him, you know."

"He should know better," she stated angrily. "Lana is an innocent, you both know that."

Her two friends exchanged a strange glance, and Minden sighed. "Do you realize how difficult such a scheme would be? How would we do this? Hit him over the head? It just would not work. Haldir of Lórien is aware of all things at all times. It is not possible to sneak up on him."

"Minden, please. There must be a way. Do this for me or . . . or I swear I will go to Elrond about the missing robes. I know it was you who took them while he was bathing."

"You would not really do that, would you?" Minden protested.

"Try me," Elanor retorted. "I do not wish to resort to such tactics, but I will if you force me. I need your help and you owe me."

Minden grimaced. "Very well, you wicked she-elf. It seems you know too many secrets in this land." He laughed a bit nervously. "We will do this for you . . . somehow. What, er, exactly did you have in mind?"

Elanor sighed in relief. She'd actually been holding her breath. "I want you to drug him and take him to my room."

"Drug him and take him to your room," Telrion echoed sarcastically. "Is that all?"

Elanor folded her arms. "Drug him, take him to my room, and tie him to my bed."

Minden looked as though he had swallowed his tongue; Telrion seemed to be on the point of gagging. "Tie him to your bed?" Minden repeated with raised brows. "Pray tell, what are your plans? Dear Elbereth, do you realize what Haldir will do to you when he awakes? Or to us, for that matter!"

Elanor waved this aside. "He can do nothing if you tie him securely. I am not going to torture him, for pity's sake, but I want to be the one in control. It might be a good idea to gag him too. I want to talk to him, and it will be a one-sided conversation."

Minden sighed. "She's lost her mind, Telrion. This surpasses any jokes I have played over the course of my entire life." Minden looked at Elanor appraisingly. "Perhaps I don't know you as well as I thought I did, my little friend."

Elanor tightened her lips. No, she expected they didn't know her that well, even though they had been friends for more than a century. These days she scarcely knew herself. She was sick to death of being quiet and predictable. She hated sewing, hated embroidery, hated the lack of adventure in her life. She hated being alone all the time. Even when she was with Lana, she felt alone because Lana had no interest in anything other than herself. The only activity Elanor pursued that she enjoyed was gardening, nurturing something that didn't talk back or whine or need its gowns mended. What a disloyal thought! Why was she being so rebellious? She loved her sister! She had adored Lana from the day she was born, lavished attention on her constantly, bent over backward to keep her happy.

"You will do this, then?" she asked. "I have some sleeping powder. All you need to do is put it into his wine. After that, he will be no problem. You must do this tomorrow night. Lana will be away visiting a friend."

Both elves nodded, and Elanor smiled. "It is agreed then. Tomorrow night I will wait here until I hear your signal that it is done." She turned and walked on down the hill, taking another path that would lead her closer to her home.

x

Minden watched her leave, then shook his head. "And I thought we knew her well."

Telrion sat on a bench, his elbows on his knees. "Do you think she realizes what she's getting herself into? Haldir of Lórien! She plays with fire."

Minden sat down as well. "And all because of some imagined slight against Lana. Nobody but Ellie would believe that. Despite Lana's beauty, I doubt Haldir has given her a moment's glance. He is too good a judge of character to be fooled by that she-elf's ploys. Ellie is so intelligent about other things, yet so blind about her sister."

"Aye, and Lana has made sure to steal every suitor Ellie might have had, and I doubt Ellie even realizes it." Telrion rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Would it not be amusing if this time Ellie was the one to catch the prize? Do you think Haldir would be interested in our little Ellie?"

Minden gazed at a nearby rosebush, his eyes narrowing in thought. "Tying him to a bed is not likely to engage his interest. Or perhaps it will. Ha! Now that I think upon it, I did see him smile at her the last time he was here. I was there in the courtyard when he saw her. She ran away, but it didn't seem to deter him. He stared after her with quite open interest, I noticed."

"So there is some attraction there. Or was."

Minden sat up straighter, his eyes gleaming with laughter. "By the light, Telrion, of course!"

"Of course what? I cannot read your mind, Cousin. What is your thought?"

"We need help." Minden grinned.

"You can say that again. The March Warden is a large and sturdy elf, and Elanor's house lies on the far side of the city. How in Mordor are we going to get him there with no one seeing?"

"Perhaps we will not have to if we can get him as far as ours."

"Well, I don't want him tied to _my_ bed! By Morgoth's balls, I would not want to be within a league of him when he wakes up."

Minden punched his cousin on the arm. "Be silent and listen. Who in all of Arda would be more willing to play a joke on the March Warden but his own two brothers? You've heard Elladan and Elrohir speak of their sense of mischief. If anyone can help, it is Rúmil and Orophin. And they are here, I saw them earlier!"

Telrion slapped a hand on his thigh. "You are right! We will talk to them tomorrow. But if they don't agree, we will have to go to Elanor and tell her it is not possible."

x

_The following afternoon_.

Rúmil stared at the two Rivendell elves, his expression carefully controlled. "Do you realize what you ask?"

Minden smiled. "Your brother has a sense of humor, does he not?"

Orophin snorted. "Humor? Haldir? Aye, he has a sense of humor, but you would be far happier if you did not experience it. This elven maiden may not like the consequences. You say he smiled at her, which I admit bodes well, but even so, this is a dangerous move on her part. There are far safer ways for her to gain his attentions."

Rúmil leaned forward. "She wishes him brought to her room and tied to her bed? No more than that? By the Valar, I will not put him in harm's way."

Telrion shook his head. "Elanor has not a cruel bone in her body. He will be in no physical danger. Besides, if you agree to help, we may just give him an advantage that Ellie will not know about."

Rúmil smiled and narrowed his eyes. "So what is your plan? Give us details and we will decide whether we will help."

Minden and Telrion looked at each other. Telling these two guardians of Lothlórien their plan was a risk, but it really was a jolly good plan! It might be good for both Haldir and Ellie, if things went well. Minden grinned and proceeded to explain. It took only a few moments to give the two Lórien brothers the details.

Telrion frowned suddenly. "You expressed concern about him, but what of her? Haldir will not harm our little Ellie?"

Rúmil and Orophin both laughed. "Nay," Rúmil said, "Haldir might take advantage and perhaps steal a kiss, but no physical harm will come to her."

The Lórien brothers looked at each other, seeming to consult silently. Then Orophin said, "We agree to help. Meet us at Haldir's room tonight at sunset. He has been in a black temper all day, though I know not why. But I do know he will be in no mood to go out, so bring lots of wine. The bloody elf can drink like a dwarf. It will take some time to get him to relax. Only then will you be able to drug his wine. But we can help you to distract him."

The elves shook hands, and the Rivendell elves left.

Rúmil turned to Orophin. "Why does he always get the best adventures? How I would like some beautiful female to want to tie me to her bed!"

Orophin grinned. "Aye, and perhaps we can make it even more interesting for her." He laughed aloud, and leaned closer to Rúmil, detailing his idea. The grin that crossed his brother's face remained for the rest of the afternoon.

To be continued . . .


	2. Chapter Two

**Chapter Two**

Haldir stretched out on his bed, crossed his ankles, and threw his arm over his eyes with a heavy sigh. Ever since last night, he had been in a vile mood.

It had been a long time since a maiden had attracted him as much as this unknown elleth had done. He had recognized her at once; she was the one he had seen in the courtyard two years ago, the one who had so often fluttered through his thoughts during those lonely nights on watch at Lothlórien's border. And for a few seconds last night, he thought the Valar had smiled upon him and sent her into the garden just so they could meet.

Instead, he had been insulted, sneered at, harassed, and rejected. He had even had his hair pulled! And for what reason? None! He had never met her, never spoken to her. She was raving mad, completely insane. Just his luck. The only redeeming aspect of the entire episode was that when he had kissed her, she had kissed him back. Fleetingly. Before she had attacked his hair.

He scowled, wondering why, despite all this, he still had half a mind to pursue her. Only rarely did he go to such trouble; the maidens usually came to him willingly. The inclination to go to such effort had not moved him in a long time, however, he had to admit that along with his acute displeasure and annoyance, he was intrigued by this maiden. That kiss lingered in his mind, nudging him to do something about it, and about her and her strange misconceptions.

Who was she? And what had motivated her to behave as she had? Did she have him confused with someone else? No, she had spoken his name. Then what in Varda's name was the meaning of it?

He sighed again. Sometimes he grew weary of visiting Rivendell, despite its exotic beauty that was so different from Lothlórien. His presence was often required for meetings between Galadriel, Celeborn, Lord Elrond, and his various advisors. _His_ presence and no others. He could not even send his brothers in his place. Today had been long and this was the first chance he'd had to rest and gather his thoughts. He was sure it would not last long.

He was right. Not two minutes later, the door flew open and the early spring breeze rushed in to lift a few strands of his hair from where it lay on his pillow. Haldir removed his arm from his eyes and glared at his visitors.

"I do not believe I heard a knock," he said sardonically, "or a request to enter."

"Since when do we ever knock?" Rúmil asked, plopping himself down on the edge of the bed.

"Aye, when _do_ you ever knock?" Haldir shot back irritably. "I do not want visitors. I have just returned to my room and would like to rest." Orophin was leaning out the window, waving cheerfully to someone below.

Rúmil eyed him with a speculative look. "You need no rest; you are only bored. We thought we'd come to cheer you up. You were certainly in the dumps last night. Look, even now Orophin has found some friends. This will be a night to remember."

Orophin brought his head inside, a smile creasing his face. "Haldir, do you remember Minden and Telrion? I invited them to join us for the evening. They will be here in just a moment."

Haldir groaned inwardly. He recalled those two all right, but since his brothers had already invited them, there was little to be done. "You give me no choice," he grumbled as he sat up.

"Why are you so gloomy?" Rúmil asked, looking curious. "You will enjoy the evening, I promise. For once you will be able to relax. Really relax," he added. Haldir thought he sounded a bit sly.

A knock soon sounded on the door. By this time, Haldir had risen and moved to the table where the remainder of his dinner still sat. He picked up a slice of bread and bit into it as Orophin admitted the two visitors.

Minden smiled and nodded a greeting. "March Warden, it has been awhile since last we met. Since then, I have learned you are quite the wine connoisseur."

Relaxing slightly, Haldir leaned back in his chair. "I know what I like."

Telrion smiled. "I am sure you do. We have brought several flasks for you to try. I even borrowed some of Lord Elrond's special blend. You will want to try it if you have not already."

Rúmil and Orophin grinned, and the elves pulled up more chairs to the table to settle into some serious drinking and tale-telling.

Haldir sat back, his goblet empty, a warm glow spreading through him that banished much of his former gloom. Perhaps for once his brothers were right. An evening of wine and male company was far preferable than one spent alone, stewing over a reluctant, slightly deranged maiden. Or even an evening _with_ a reluctant maiden, he thought. But if she had _not_ been reluctant . . .

Suddenly, he noticed that his brothers were laughing softly, and for no discernable reason. Orophin was gazing at the flask of wine. "Is there a problem with the wine?" he inquired, watching them closely.

Their heads jerked in his direction. "Nay, Haldir," Orophin replied, "we were only recalling the last time we drank like this with our good friends Minden and Telrion." He grinned, winking at the two Rivendell elves. "Do you remember the trouble we got into that night? Or rather, that _you_ got into? Of course, Rúmil and I were only innocent bystanders."

Haldir yawned and leaned forward to accept a refilled goblet. "I was not with you that night, but I recall hearing the story, if it is the one to do with snipping the end off Erestor's braid. Thank the Valar I was not there. You four are incorrigible! Speaking of which, why do I feel like you are up to something tonight?"

Rúmil smiled innocently. "Up to something? Us? Ha! Well, likely we shall be up to something later, but we have nothing planned as yet. Perhaps you have an idea?"

Haldir paused in the motion of sipping his wine, studying his two brothers and the two Rivendell elves. Were they truly up to something or was he just imagining it? Perhaps he was overreacting. So often had they played tricks on him that he was now in the habit of expecting it.

"I have no ideas for mischief," he said, "and if I did, I would not tell you. But I will admit that you were right about my need to relax. Your companionship tonight is most welcome." Indeed, he felt very good indeed, even a little hopeful regarding the unknown maiden. Perhaps there was a way to straighten out whatever misunderstanding he occurred.

They had started the second flask before Minden had the opportunity to sprinkle the sleeping powder into Haldir's wine when he left the room to relieve himself. It would take a while before the powder would begin to take effect. Both his brothers knew that Haldir was aware of such drugs and their effects. Would he realize what had been done?

The shadows of night had fallen by the time they left the room. Rúmil sighed, his head fuzzy from trying to keep up with Haldir's drinking. He staggered along next to Haldir and Orophin as they headed down the stone steps toward the river. Though Minden and Telrion had imbibed far less than the Lórien elves, they too were drunk, and were at this moment arguing about the words to a particularly bawdy song, each singing a different version as they lurched along behind the three brothers.

"Haldir," Rúmil bragged, slurring his words, "you will never outdrink me. I can drink two goblets of wine to every one of yours. We've gone through all of Telrion's wine and I am still not drunk."

Haldir snorted, noting how unsteadily Rúmil leaned against the stone wall overlooking the river. His brother's claim was untrue and they all knew it, but it was just like Rúmil to try to argue about it. Still, Haldir rubbed his forehead and frowned, wondering why his vision was so blurry. Their voices seemed distant, echoing strangely in his head.

Orophin dragged his arm from Haldir's shoulders. "Nay, Rúmil, Haldir can put us both under the table. But this Rivendell wine is good and strong, do you not agree, Haldir?"

Haldir glared at his brothers, a difficult process since his head was so foggy. He shook his head, trying to clear it, then gazed down at the empty goblet that had somehow remained in his hand. He lifted the goblet and sniffed it. "I find this wine yields strange effects," he mumbled. His vision blurred as he stared at one of the torches that lit a nearby Rivendell street, the flickering flame multiplying into three. He blinked, then narrowed his eyes. "There was something wrong with the wine."

"Nonsense, you're imagining things," Rúmil said. "We can drink another flask when we get to Telrion's place. How much farther, Telrion?"

Haldir barely heard the reply. He was so groggy he could hardly think, and a moment later, he nearly tripped over Orophin, who appeared to be sliding down a wall to the ground.

Orophin looked up at Haldir with a silly grin. "I do believe I drank more tonight than ever before in my life. I think my feet were once at the end of my legs, but I cannot feel them now. Dear brother Hal, you will have to carry me."

Haldir reached down to grip his brother's tunic and haul him to his feet. He braced himself with one hand against the wall, but held onto Orophin's tunic with the other, drawing his surprised brother close to him.

"What have you done?" he demanded, his voice bleary

"Done?" Orophin giggled. "Nothing, it's just the wine."

Haldir did not release Orophin's tunic, but reached out and gripped Rúmil's as well. He was losing his balance, something that never happened, even when he was drunk. They had put something into his drink, those bastards!

"You will pay for this, mark my word . . ." He got no further as the drug finally took effect, and he dropped heavily to his knees. He felt his brothers seize his arms just in time to keep him from falling facedown on the cobbled path. And then everything went black.

"By Sauron's balls, I didn't think it was ever going to work!" Orophin gasped, pushing the heel of his hand to his temple to curb the swirling. He stared as Telrion, who was crouching down to check Haldir's pulse.

"Well, it would have been better if we could have gotten him as far as Telrion's room before this happened." Rúmil muttered. "Do you realize how heavy he is?"

Orophin groaned in dismay. "Aye, I realize."

Telrion pushed open the door to his room, stumbling inside along with the others, all four falling into a pile onto the stone floor along with the unconscious March Warden. Rúmil's knees hurt from the impact, but not very much because he could barely feel anything at all.

"Blessed Elbereth, I didn't think we'd ever get here," Minden groaned, pulling the unconscious Haldir off Telrion. Telrion scrambled to his feet, but Orophin and Rúmil both continued to lie on the floor.

"You have no idea how long we will pay for this," Rúmil told them, his head swirling, the room spinning madly around him. If he could think at all, he might be having second thoughts about all this. But it was too late for that.

"You do realize that Haldir understands exactly what we've done to him," he heard Orophin slur as he attempted and failed to rise to his knees.

Watching his brother, Rúmil uttered a sound that to his own ears sounded like a sick giggle, then turned his attention to Telrion and Minden. "I suggest you two find yourself a duty far from Rivendell before our Haldir wakes," he told them. With monumental effort, he staggered to his feet, grabbed a chair and heaved himself heavily into it.

"You two can stay here," Minden said. "Elanor's home is near. We can get him the rest of the way without your aid."

Rúmil pushed himself into a standing position. "Nay, we must go with you. Get up, Orophin. We have yet to tell them the rest of our plan."

Orophin dragged himself to his knees, and then somehow managed to rise to his feet. "Let us get him there first. Then we will explain."

Elanor paced back and forth along the bridge, bolstering her courage with the memory of Lana's tears and lamentations. All day she had been forced to listen to Lana's weeping, her tales of betrayal and heartbreak enough to make Elanor's face turn white. Never had she seen Lana this distressed over a romantic interest; her poor little sister must truly have cared a great deal for Haldir. Not to mention that Lana had given herself to him! He had taken her heart, and then carelessly tossed away such a precious gift as though it meant nothing.

She had lost count of how many times had she paced this bridge tonight. Where were Telrion and Minden? They should have been able to accomplish the task by now. How difficult could it be? Tilting her head, she gazed upward at the twinkling stars set so perfectly into the night sky by Elbereth herself. The air was balmy, the night sweet, though not as sweet as Elanor's revenge was going to be.

Just you wait, Haldir of Lórien! You arrogant scoundrel!

She wrapped her arms around herself. What was she going to do with him, once she had him where she wanted him? She didn't know for certain, but she had a few ideas. Humbling him was the primary goal, along with explaining to him just what his crimes had been and what she thought of him. When done, she would walk away, and later send Telrion or Minden to set him loose. No doubt Haldir would be so glad to be free and so mortified that he would slink off to his own rooms and never speak to any of them again; or tell anyone what happened to him, for that matter.. At least that is what she was hoping.

Oh, dear Elbereth, she wished they would hurry before she lost her courage!

She stiffened suddenly when several shadows separated from the street below, and headed toward her. It was Telrion, Minden and—she gasped with dismay—Rúmil and Orophin, Haldir's brothers! What were they all doing together? Had the whole plan gone awry? Were they coming here to rebuke her? Or worse?

Whatever the case, she was not about to cower and hide. Raising her chin, she hurried down the path to meet them, noting that Minden had an arm wrapped around Orophin, who looked exceedingly unwell.

Eying the four male elves with suspicion, she stopped a few steps away from them. "What is wrong? What's happened?"

Minden grinned foolishly. "Nothing yet, dear Elanor. Your package has been delivered per your instructions."

Elanor looked at Orophin, who seemed to have lost control of his limbs. "What is wrong with him? And all the rest of you?"

"Drunk," Telrion informed her succinctly. "Drunk, drunk, drunk."

Orophin enforced Telrion's statement with a loud hiccup.

Rúmil smiled at her. "Our aid was enlisted, pretty elf." He seemed to be testing his balance as he tilted his head to study her, then came over and settled a hand on her shoulder. "You do not know what this night will cost us, sweetling. I hope you make it worth your while. I must warn you, Haldir will not be a nice elf when he awakes. You will have to be brave and very persuasive." He laughed, then belched loudly.

Elanor turned back to Telrion with a disapproving frown. "You sought their help? Why?"

Telrion helped Minden lower Orophin to the ground, where he leaned against the stone wall of the bridge. "No other way to get him to your house, Ellie. What does it matter? He is there, now go and have your fun. He is strong, and will not be long affected by your sleeping powder." He gave her a peculiar smile, his eyes seeming to dance with inner merriment of some sort. It must be the drink affecting him.

With a short nod, Elanor pressed a hand to her chest, knowing her heart was racing. She turned to go, but paused at the sound of Orophin's voice. "We left you a surprise, my dear. Make whatever use of it you like while you are able."

All four of them roared with laughter as she hurried away.

Elanor pushed open the door to her house, listening intently for any sounds within. She heard nothing. Good. He must still be asleep. She closed the door behind her, thankful she did not have to contend with Lana. Lana had mournfully allowed herself to be persuaded to continue with her plans to spend the night at her friend's house at the other end of Rivendell. This friend was Lana's only female friend, the only one who seemed willing to put up with her tantrums. Now where did that come from? For shame, Ellie!

Even knowing that Haldir was asleep, she found herself tiptoeing through the parlor and down the hall to the farthest chamber, which was actually her parents' room. Her mother and father had left three years ago for an extended visit to Mirkwood, and Elanor had been using their room while they were gone since her own was so tiny. Lana had the only other large bedchamber.

Elanor reached the door to the chamber and drew a deep breath, her heart beating furiously in her chest. Never before had she indulged in pranks or jokes the way so many others had. Everyone in Rivendell thought she was dull and serious and quiet, but little did they know what lay beneath. The stillness of her soul hid a deep passion and a fiery lust to experience life, needs she had been suppressing for longer than she cared to remember. And she was nigh to bursting with the desire to break free. It was about time for a prank, if such this could be called. Nay, this was deadly serious. This was well-deserved retribution, she reminded herself as she pushed open the door of her bedchamber.

And nearly died.

Paralyzed with shock, Elanor clutched at the doorframe, her eyes wider than they had ever been in her life. Blessed Elbereth, she was going to _kill_ them, all four of them. Minden and Telrion and Rúmil and Orophin. Kill them, kill them, kill them.

Just as she asked, Haldir of Lórien was tied to the four posts of the bed, his wrists and ankles bound with strong elven rope. They had gotten that part right.

But he was naked. _Naked! _Not a stitch of clothing! And no gag.

Elanor swallowed hard. Her mind seemed to have stopped functioning. Now she understood the meaning of some of those odd looks and remarks. Haldir's brothers must be thinking she wanted to . . . to . . . _oh!_ What they must _think_ of her! And Telrion and Minden! Why would they have gone along with this? Perhaps . . . perhaps because once, not too long ago, she had confessed to Telrion that her life was boring. He had told her that, if given the chance, he would help her to liven it up. This would fit his sense of humor, that much was certain.

Now what was she going to do? Run away?

No.

Raising her chin, she entered the room, her gaze drawn to Haldir's form as though by magic. She couldn't _not_ look at him! He had a magnificent physique, well-muscled yet sleek, solid yet lean. He was beautifully proportioned, with long, sturdy legs and broad shoulders, his silvery blond hair spread around his head. And still asleep, Eru be praised.

She moved closer, still admiring him. She had never seen a totally naked male elf before, at least not an adult. Of course she knew what male anatomy looked like, but for some reason she had never thought it very interesting. Until this moment. Oh, what was wrong with her? How could she think such thoughts? This was the elf she disliked, nay, abhorred! Still, oh my, he was a handsome elf. She shivered at the sight. What a pity he was so arrogant and coldhearted.

She moved around the bed and sat down in the chair she had left beside it. How long before he awoke? She considered fetching a blanket to cover him, but even as this thought went through her head, she knew, she just _knew_, that he would mock her for it. She would not give him the satisfaction. To Mordor with his modesty! He likely would not care anyway. And truth be told, this would heighten his punishment to a most satisfying level.

At last she was having an adventure. But where would it end?

Haldir's head throbbed painfully, a solitary pinpoint of light hurting his eyes even while they remained closed. He knew at once that his brothers had played some kind of trick on him. What had they done this time? He stretched his fingers, finding they tingled oddly, and realized he could not move his wrists. Or his ankles. He was lying on something soft. A cot? No, a bed.

Whose bed? Several possibilities crossed his mind, none good. Was he in Elrond's palace? The unwelcome thought crossed his mind that it was the bed of that blonde brat, the one with the fluttering eyelashes and amorous fantasies. No, not even his brothers would do that to him.

He lay still, willing away his headache while he assessed the situation. He could feel the air on his chest, his legs. He was tied hand and foot. And he was naked, completely naked. They had drugged him, and done this to him. He was going to kill them.

He did not open his eyes, but used his hearing first. It was quiet, but not silent. He could hear someone breathing, though not evenly. This was good. Whoever it was, he made them nervous. Not one of his brothers, then. The breathing was soft. An elleth?

Haldir cracked open his eyes, just enough to see that it was still night. The room was lit by a single candle. He flexed his wrists.

"The ropes are secure." It was a low, female voice. Familiar.

Haldir opened his eyes fully, and turned to look at her; and it took all his self-discipline not to betray his shock. It was the maiden from the garden, the lovely lunatic, his dream elleth. Fury swept through him, and he clenched his jaw. She would regret the day she was born.

Elanor rose, trying to ignore the fact that one of the most powerful elves in Arda was trussed up tightly in front of her, completely at her mercy. She slid to the side of the bed, swallowing as the grey eyes fixed on her in a way that made her extremely uncomfortable. He did not seem to notice his nakedness, but she saw the way he flexed his arms, his muscles rippling with the movement. His arms fascinated her, but she tore her gaze away from his muscles and forced herself to look at his face. She could see that he was angry. Good.

"Why am I here?" he asked, his voice hard and slightly raspy. It would be an effect of the sleeping powder.

"I wish to talk to you." She drew a breath, willing the anger and feelings of betrayal to remain strong. Why did she suddenly feel a twinge of guilt?

"Talk?" He sneered slightly. "Is that what you call it? If you wanted me in your bed, there are easier ways of achieving it."

"I do not want you in my bed!" she snapped, losing the control she was fighting so hard to maintain. "You are being punished." She drew back at the flare of fury in his eyes.

"Punished? For what?" His eyes narrowed; his wrists flexed again.

She looked away, trying to recapture her nerve, which wobbled each time she met those penetrating eyes. Frantically, she summoned the memory of Lana's reddened eyes and heart-wrenching sobs. _Remember what Haldir did to Lana, hang on to that._ He had behaved dishonorably; he was cruel and heartless and had taken advantage of Lana's innocence. He needed to be taught a lesson, and—Elanor straightened her spine—_she_ was going to do it.

Resolving to stay strong, she sat down on the edge of the bed, her body angled toward his head and away from his lower body. Very slowly, she reached out and traced her finger up his arm, starting with the bicep, along the inside of his elbow all the way out to his wrist. One long, slow, teasing line using the tip of her finger. It caused a very slight tremor, though she saw him try to hide it.

"How does it feel to have someone toy with you?" she inquired, her tone detached. "Does it trouble you? Annoy you?"

He did not answer. His stony stare drilled into her.

"Do you know who I am?" She turned her gaze to his chest, and cautiously touched him there, in the center. Her hand looked small on that wide expanse of male flesh and sculpted muscle. His skin was warm, and she could feel his heartbeat beneath her palm.

"Yes. You are the insane maiden I met in the garden last night."

She drew back her hand as though he had bitten her. "I am not insane! I have a legitimate grievance against you, March Warden. And you know very well what it is. I am talking about Lana!"

"Lana?" he scoffed. "I know no one named Lana. I do not even know you."

"You lie," she shot back, and saw the muscles in his jaw harden. To accuse him of lying was an extreme measure, yet she felt within her rights. He _was_ lying. He must be.

He lifted his chin, looking incredibly haughty for one in his situation. "You will untie me at once," he ordered, his voice domineering. "If you obey me, I will go easier on you than I would otherwise."

"Not a chance," Elanor said, her mouth curving. "I am the one in charge here. You are going to stay right where you are." To punish him further, she again placed her hand on his chest, this time being bolder, letting it travel around, making circles, not quite touching his nipples. His face was utterly impassive, she noted. He had a great deal of self-control. How far could she push him?

"Exactly what am I supposed to have done to so offend you?" he asked scathingly.

He shifted his legs slightly, but she did not look around. She touched one of his nipples with her index finger, and was a little shocked to find that it puckered. She withdrew her hand and took a deep breath.

"To me? Why, you have done nothing to me, Haldir of Lórien. It is Lana you have injured. Why do you pretend otherwise?"

Again, he flexed his wrists. "You are making a huge mistake. This is my last warning to you. What is your name?"

"My name is no concern of yours."

"You will answer my question," he countered, his voice a cold command.

Elanor's anger took an upward leap. "You are the most arrogant elf I have ever encountered!" Seeking to discomfit him, she let her gaze slide over his nakedness, slowly and deliberately. He did not seem at all affected, but she felt the color rise in her own cheeks.

"Does my nakedness make you uncomfortable?" he mocked. "Your eyes seem drawn to it."

Provoked, Elanor glared at him. "You are insolent!"

He actually laughed. "What am I supposed to have done to this Lana, whom I do not know?" He kept his voice level, though he was clearly boiling with anger. Good.

"You hurt her. You are cruel and care nothing for the feelings of others. You play your game with hearts that are tender. You tempt and take advantage. Well, I can play that game too." In an attempt to prove this, she let her hand slide lower, across the hard plane of his stomach, almost brushing his male member, which was beginning to stir. It was an unexpected result, one she would never have planned, and it made her both uneasy and strangely excited.

Haldir struggled to curb his body's response to her teasing, while at the same time trying to make sense of her words. What in Mordor's name was she talking about? He knew no Lana. He searched his memory, but instead found himself focusing on the fingers that were dragging along his chest and over his ribs. He gritted his teeth as they continued down the line of his hip, his thigh, to his ankle. Then she moved around to the other side of the bed and started up the other leg. Again, his body stirred, responding to the stimulation of her touch.

Shoving aside his rage, he looked at her critically, trying to discern how he could gain the upper hand. Without intending to, he noted how elegant she was, in a quiet, unassuming sort of way. Her long hair was very dark, heavy, with a sheen that reflected the light of the candle. Her blue eyes were stormy. She was not as beautiful as some of the others, but there was something uncommon about her, something alluring and unique. Something he liked.

_Had_ liked. Until now, of course. Gods, he would kill his brothers for this.

"For two years, she has loved you. Does that mean nothing?" Her hand trailed up his other leg, along his calf, over his knee, up his thigh as far as his hipbone where she paused, once more surveying his nakedness, as though debating whether to grow bolder. Yet he could see the high color in her cheekbones as she took in how much he had increased in size. She was embarrassed and he was not, and he knew he could use it to his advantage.

Needing to keep her off her guard, he jeered, "Perhaps there is no Lana, and you seek to attract my attention in this eccentric way. But you are weak. You are afraid to do that which you wish to do. You touch, yet do not touch."

Ah, he had made her angry all right. She suddenly used her nails on him, digging deep into his abdomen. It caused him little pain, but he knew that if he looked there would be five long, red scratches. He could see that she was trembling with rage. He flexed his wrists again, trying to loosen the knots a little more than he already had. Whoever had tied them had not done as fine a job as she believed.

"You are a liar _and_ a scoundrel!" Her voice shook with anger. "I would have expected the March Warden of Lothlórien to have some sense of honor, but you have none!" She knelt on the edge of the bed, her hair falling over her shoulder to pool on his stomach as she leaned over him, its light touch sending an automatic tremor over his flesh. "You claim not to know Lana, but we both know you stole her innocence. Why will you not admit it?"

He gazed up into the blue depths of her eyes. "Perhaps there was nothing to steal. Perhaps she was not as innocent as you believe," he taunted, just to see what effect it would have on her, distracting her as he moved his wrist. Yes, the knot was loosened. He flexed the other wrist, and an ankle, carefully.

She drew back. "So you admit it!" she said triumphantly. He thought he saw a measure of relief in her face. Her hand moved higher, her fingers feathering over his collarbone and the muscles of his neck, then sliding over his chest and down his abdomen again. He found he could no longer subdue his reaction; her teasing had resulted in the inevitable physical outcome. No matter; that could also be used to advantage.

Haldir smiled, knowing it would annoy her. "I admit nothing." He flexed the muscles of his arms, then resumed his first strategy. "I do not believe there is a Lana. I think you desire me for yourself. Come, untie me, and I will give you what you want. I am willing and able. I think that has become quite evident."

She slapped him. "You are contemptible!"

"Strike me again," he warned, his temper frayed, "and you will regret it more than you can imagine."

He saw the way she shivered at his words, and knew he was making progress. That time he had used the full force of his power to intimidate.

"I will not strike you again," she told him with dignity, "but not because I am frightened of you."

He went on the attack. "Are you expecting company? Is this to be a threesome?"

That did it. He saw the way her eyes widened with dismay. "What?"

"Someone just entered your house. Did you not notice? Or perhaps you could hear nothing over your own heavy breathing."

"Oooh!" With interest, he watched the way she clenched her fists, barely able to resist clawing him again. And then, as he had expected, she took the bait. She spun around and left the room. And Haldir smiled to himself as he quickly freed himself from knots he suspected had been left deliberately loose.

tbc


	3. Chapter Three

**Chapter Three**

Elanor shut the door behind her, her breath coming in great gasps. Who could be here? Not Lana, surely! Nor Minden and Telrion! They would not . . . would they?

She walked quickly down the corridor, listening carefully, but heard nothing. What had he heard? She peeked in Lana's room, then the smaller chamber that had been her own, then continued on down to the parlor and looked at the front door. The privacy latch was still in place. Of course, any elf could open it with a simple spell if they chose, but privacy latches were respected. No one but Lana would be likely to enter if the latch was closed.

Elanor went and peeked into the kitchen, and dining room, and the small back parlor. No one was there. What had Haldir heard? Could he have been mistaken?

No! A sudden shockwave ran through her as she realized she had been duped. The March Warden of Lothlórien would not be mistaken about such a thing! How stupid she was being, and how emotional! He would be laughing at her right now, trying to get free . . .

Spinning around, she raced back down the hall to the bedchamber where she had left him, and stood listening outside the door. There were no sounds.

Slowly, she began to relax. Nothing had happened, but she was even angrier because he had made her look like more of a fool than she already felt.

She opened the door . . . and for the second time that night, she nearly died.

He was not on the bed.

Across the room, the window shutters were open, the curtains billowing in the night breeze. The candle flickered madly.

She stepped cautiously inside, and took a step toward the bed. The ropes still hung from the bedposts, reminding her that it had all been real, that she had actually done it. She had truly had Haldir of Lórien on her bed . . . .

Before she could complete this thought, a large hand clamped over her mouth, and an arm like a steel band coiled around her waist, lifting her completely off the floor. Elanor gave a horrified, muffled cry of pure terror. He was free, blessed Elbereth, he was free!

"You did not truly think I would leave, did you?" The softly spoken words were silky and velvet-smooth, at odds with the tightness of his grip. "And now," he continued, still very softly, "it is my turn to have a little fun. This game we play will continue, but according to my rules."

Elanor's senses returned in a rush. She began to struggle, using all her strength, kicking and wriggling and squirming, yet her struggles were futile; she was no match for his strength. She knew she was going to pay dearly for what she had done to him, and that he would enjoy it immensely was clear. He was still naked, and she heard quiet laughter as he held her against him, his hand still firmly clamped over her mouth.

Haldir carried her across the room, her feet kicking out, hitting nothing but air. She tried to bite him, but could not even get her mouth open wide enough to accomplish it. With scarcely a pause, he spun her around and threw her none-too-gently on the bed, quickly pinning her with his body as he thrust one of her hands through a loop hanging from the bedpost. With a single hand, he tightened this loop, grimacing as she grabbed a clump of his hair, but her free hand was immediately seized and thrust into a second loop. Bound by both wrists, she tried to twist from beneath him, but this was not possible. His left hand still covered her mouth.

He gazed down at her, his face impassive, and she stared back, trying to hide her fear. "I will remove my hand if you promise not to scream. I can silence you before you have time to draw a breath so you may as well agree."

Elanor managed a small nod, her heart jerking. What else could she do?

"Good," he said, and released her mouth.

The moment his hand was gone, she spat, "So now what will you—"

The hand returned.

"You will not speak unless it is to answer my questions," he stated curtly.

Until this moment, he had actually been sitting on her, crushing her with his weight, but now he shifted, and shoved a knee between hers to force her legs apart. All that male flesh, the large, hard body hovering over hers, brought her heart almost into her throat. She could scarcely breath, and he seemed to know this, for she heard him give a low, nasty-sounding chuckle.

"I will not bind your ankles," he said, "for it might prove awkward." To her horror, he knelt between her legs, his hands on her thighs. At least she still wore her dress, but he had shoved it almost all the way up to her hips so that his hands were actually on her bare flesh. She tried not to look at his nakedness, though that was difficult.

"Now," he added with cool authority, "I will have your name."

Furious and frightened, Elanor clamped her lips together and glared.

Haldir leaned forward, his silver blond hair hanging down on either side of his face. "You seem not to understand that I am the one in control now, and I have no patience left. I will ask you once more, and I suggest you answer with one word: your name."

Elanor swallowed, still not able to catch her breath, but now she could not blame it on the weight of his body. Those grey eyes held no warmth, no humor, and his expression was hard, completely lacking in compassion. Not that she expected compassion from him.

"Elanor," she said at last.

"Elanor," he repeated, his eyes unreadable. "Like the flower."

It was not a question, so she said nothing.

"Now, I am going to ask you more questions, and you will tell me the truth. I warn you, I will know if you are lying."

"What do you want to—" she got out, before his hand returned to her mouth.

"I ask the questions," he reminded her, his voice cold and edged with steel. "Now, who is this Lana?" He removed his hand.

Elanor gritted her teeth. "She is my sister."

He studied her for a moment. "Is she like you?"

This seemed an odd question. "No," Elanor said shortly.

"Describe her to me."

"Why? You know her—"

Haldir's hand swept up to grip her chin. His eyes glittered dangerously. "Three times have you failed to obey me, Elanor." He said her name oddly, stressing the second syllable instead of the first. "You also fail to understand that this is no jest. Obey me or suffer the consequences." His hands took hold of the front of her dress and, without hesitation, he ripped it completely down the front. Elanor gasped in absolute shock. At least she wore a chemise beneath her gown; many ladies did not.

"Ah," he said, his tone pensive, "you are one of the modest ones. I did not expect that." His mouth curved into an unpleasant smile. "You look worried. You should be. Now, describe your sister to me."

Elanor drew in a trembling breath. "She is very beautiful. Golden hair. Blue eyes. She spoke to you last night just before you went into the garden."

His dark brows drew together. "So _that_ is Lana." He studied her closely. "I see no resemblance. You are not much alike."

Elanor flushed. "I know I am not as pretty." This time he did not cut her off.

"You are much prettier," he corrected, "but that is a fact, not a compliment, so be warned. And you have spoken out of turn again."

To her horror, he caught hold of the bodice of her chemise, and ripped it a small distance down the center. Watching her face, he ran a teasing finger from the base of her throat down to the bottom of the tear, which fell just between her breasts. His touch flooded her with sensation, sending an appalling and very warm wave searing into the pit of her stomach.

"What did your sister tell you?" he asked in a flat tone. "She must have quite an imagination. What wild tale did she spin, that you would feel so outraged against me?"

Elanor was becoming lightheaded from fluctuations in her breathing and from the flurry of feelings sweeping through her. She could hardly keep her mind focused, her body was reacting to his closeness, just as his had reacted so visibly to hers. She marveled that he could ignore his own response so completely when she was so aware of it. It did not seem to embarrass him in the least.

In a stifled voice, she said, "You know perfectly well that you and she met two years ago. You courted her. She fell in love and said you loved her back. But you were only toying with her heart. She is young and naïve and . . . and you should have known better!"

"Naïve? Like you?"

"I am not naïve!"

He laughed scornfully. "You are like a new hatchling, Elanor. Fresh from the nest."

"I am not!" she countered furiously. "I am—"

"Slow to learn," he said, and ripped her chemise all the way to her naval. "Once more you have spoken without permission. Do it again and I will strip you naked. Is that what you want me to do, little flower?"

Though he must have seen everything, he had replaced the fabric over her breasts, allowing her the remnants of her modesty. Even so, his hands slipped between the torn edges of the chemise, resting on her ribcage directly under her breasts. Unbearable, humiliating warmth washed through her as he stroked her flesh.

"No," she answered, her voice cracking. Tears threatened to surface, but she held them back.

"Whose idea was it to bring me here and tie me to the bed?"

"Mine," she whispered.

"Entirely?" he demanded. "Telrion and Minden did not put you up to it?"

"It was entirely my idea."

"How did you persuade them to go along with this?" His thumbs caressed the inner curve of her breasts.

She closed her eyes, trying to ignore the burning his touch was igniting throughout her body. "I . . . I blackmailed them."

"Indeed," he remarked, his tone dry. "Tell me how."

Falteringly, she explained about the borrowed parchments and the stolen robes.

Haldir took this in without comment. "Last question. Why did you wish me to be naked?"

Her eyes flew open. "I did not! They were supposed to gag you, not—" She broke off as his gaze darkened like an angry thundercloud.

"Gag me," he repeated in a ominous voice. He leaned over her, his hair sliding over his shoulder to hang beside his head, brushing her chest.

Elanor squeezed her eyes shut and heard him take a deep breath. Was it an effort to control his anger? She felt him grip her chin.

"Open your eyes, Elanor."

It was a command she dared not refuse, her chemise was almost nonexistent now. She looked up at him. He leaned closer, his grey eyes smoldering, boring into hers. "I find your sense of justice unacceptable. You had no cause to bind me as you did. Your sister lies."

"Nay, she would not!" she burst out. "It is you who lie!"

"You push me too far, little flower. I grow weary of your insults." He raised himself up for a moment, and her eyes darted downward. He was still erect, even more than before, and she swallowed in amazement at the size of him. Had touching her really done that to him? For a brief moment, she actually felt a tiny surge of feminine triumph, but she shoved it aside with self-loathing.

"I see you have noticed the effect you have on me. Do not take it personally, it means nothing. It is only nature." He stared down at her with an expression that made her quake inwardly. Very softly, he said, "You had your chance to touch me. Now, Elanor, I am going to return the favor."

Her eyes widened, but before she could take in his meaning, he had moved to lie directly on top of her, his elbows on either side of her ribcage, his head lifted so that he could gaze mockingly down upon her. Never before had she done this, had a naked male lying on top of her; he had forced her legs apart and settled himself between them as though he had the right. She stared up at him, her heart pumping so hard she thought she would explode.

At first, when his head lowered, she thought he was going to kiss her, but instead he dipped down and touched his tongue to a sensitive place on the curve of her neck. She gasped, an involuntary shudder running through her, which he must have felt for she heard him give a low laugh. She lay completely rigid, trembling while he explored her, working his mouth around the curve of her neck to the base of her throat and lower. Then he shifted his body downwards, and to her complete shock, pushed aside her torn chemise to bare one of her breasts.

"You touched me here," he murmured, "so it is only fair I do the same to you." Her eyes widened as his head came down and his lips closed over her nipple. Dimly, she heard herself give a small, soft whimper that was almost a moan, her back arching in involuntary response to a stimulation she had never experienced. Mortified tears formed in her eyes, but she kept them squeezed shut while she angled her head away. Still he tormented her a while longer, flicking her nipple with his tongue, then sucking it gently. At last he lifted his head, and she knew he was looking down at her. He said nothing. He just covered her breast again with the edge of her chemise.

Then his weight lifted away and there was only air.

At last she dared to open her eyes and saw that he had found his clothes, which had been shoved into a chair on the opposite side of the room. He glanced over at her as he laced up his leggings and pulled on his tunics. "I hope you had your dinner, my dear, for you will remain where you are for now. Perhaps your sister will come home soon and release you."

"She will not be home until tomorrow!" Elanor cried. "You cannot leave me here, not like this!" She twisted, knowing that Haldir's knots would not loosen, and likely would only be made tighter by her movement.

He sat down on the edge of the bed to pull on his boots, then reached over and lowered the hem of her chemise just a trifle. "On the contrary, fair Elanor, I _can_ leave you like this. You will be safe enough, and I have some elves to find. While you are waiting for someone to come and free you, you can reflect upon how unwise it is to cross swords with me."

"You are detestable," she said with a catch in her voice.

He only laughed. He was still angry, that much was obvious.

And then the door clicked shut, leaving her alone.

Haldir left Elanor's house and strode rapidly along the Rivendell paths in the direction of his own rooms, still simmering with anger and other strong emotions. He was infuriated with his brothers, and with Minden and Telrion, but at this point his anger with Elanor had lessened. Yes, she deserved to be punished, but he had taken care of that, and what he had done would probably suffice. He had intended to do much more, to leave her on fire for him and then walk away, but he had changed his mind. The look on her face had convinced him that, unlike this lying sister of hers, Elanor was truly an innocent.

A misinformed, misguided innocent with courage and a streak of audacity he might have admired under other circumstances. To do what she had done had taken a lot of nerve. With the exception of his brothers, his own wardens would not have dared to do such a thing. Haldir's discipline was strict and swift, and they all knew it. This little Rivendell maiden had dared to tread where others would not, certainly no one in Lórien!

But she was not rational, he thought irritably. She was foolish, obsessed with retribution for this silly young sister of hers whom he had barely glanced at, and who was clearly a deceitful schemer. He wished he could wring Lana's neck.

As for Elanor, his response to her had not been quite as meaningless as he had allowed her to believe. His body had burned for her, but more than that, a part of him had longed to forgive her, to hold her, to kiss her and make passionate love to her. And so, while he had punished Elanor, he had also punished himself by walking away from the well when he was still thirsty.

Even now he still wanted her. To have come so close, to have had her on a bed and tasted the sweetness of her breast, and then to have seen such an agonized expression on her face! He cursed inwardly and with very great regret. Any chance of wooing her was permanently ruined, and the knowledge fueled his fury at his brothers. Their practical joke went beyond mere fun and amusement. They had gone too far this time, and they would pay.

Haldir strode rapidly up the stone steps and into the hallway of the ornate building that housed Elrond's guests. The sun was just beginning to rise, and he had a strong feeling that he knew where he would find the elves he sought. He gripped the door latch of Rúmil's room and threw open the door. Four faces turned to look at him, four pairs of bleary eyes widening with shock. Orophin groaned.

"Haldir!" Telrion rose and backed up as Haldir stalked into the room.

Rúmil also stood, his expression wary. "Why, hello, brother. We did not expect you back so soon."

Haldir fixed his enraged gaze upon his sibling. "No?" he said acidly. "And when did you expect me?"

Minden sat closest to the door, and looked ready to make his escape. "We, um, were expecting you to take advantage of the loose knots for . . . at least a while longer."

Rounding on him, Haldir grasped the Rivendell elf's tunic and yanked him to his feet. "Oh? So that was your idea?"

Minden gulped. "We only did what she asked, Haldir. I knew nothing of her intentions beyond that. We only thought to give you an advantage she would not expect!"

Haldir increased the menace in his tone. "And I am to think that the maiden's wishes included the removal of my clothing?" Minden struggled against the iron grip locked on his tunic, making choking sounds in his throat.

Rúmil surged forward and grabbed Haldir's wrists. "Let him be, Haldir! That part was our idea, mine and Orophin's! Do not blame Minden or Telrion. We only thought to make things more interesting for you. I, uh, gather it did not have the desired effect."

Releasing Minden, who staggered back, Haldir's wrathful gaze settled first on Orophin and then Rúmil. "You may assume that. And I tell you now that you have made a grave mistake, all of you." He turned to Orophin, who sat with his head in his hands. "You look unwell, brother. Too much wine, perhaps? Be warned, however you feel now will be preferable to the punishment that awaits you in Lothlórien."

Telrion was edging toward the door, but froze when Haldir spun around and pointed a finger at him. "And you, my friend, had better see to Elanor. I left her mired in her own trap so perhaps you might like to rescue her, that is, if you dare. I do not envy you that task. She is not in a pleasant mood."

He saw Telrion's eyes widen. Almost sputtering, the Rivendell elf said, "Do you mean you left her tied to the bed? How could you do such a cruel thing?"

"I did it quite easily," Haldir said with coldness. "She is fortunate I am sending you now rather than tomorrow. However, it is you, not I, who owes her an apology. So are you going to release her or not?" His voice lashed out like a whip.

"I am going!" Giving Haldir a reproachful look, Telrion hurried from the room.

Haldir turned back to Minden. "As for you . . ."

Telrion did not wait to hear more; Minden would have to fend for himself. Running out of the building and down the road, he soon reached Elanor's home. He paused, half expecting to hear her shrieking, but all was silent. Worried, he opened the door and headed straight down the hall for the bedchambers, dreading the moment to come. He loved Elanor like a brother, and for years had been wishing she could find an elf who would love her in the romantic sense. But clearly Lórien's March Warden was not to be this elf!

Reaching the room which he knew to be Elanor's, he quietly opened the door and peeked inside. Elanor lay on her bed, wearing a chemise and nothing else, but he could see it had been split quite a long way down the front. He scowled fiercely. What had happened here? She was staring at the ceiling, her wrists tied to the bedposts. Had she been crying? His tender heart touched, he slipped into the room to find her gaze settling on him.

"Telrion!" Her voice shook with an edge of hysteria. "How _could_ you?"

"Elanor, what happened?" He reached the bed, trying to ignore the expanse of long feminine leg revealed by the chemise clumped around her upper thighs. Her dress lay beneath her, completely ripped open from neckline to hem.

Elanor looked ready to scream. "Happened? What do you think happened? You deliberately left the knots loose, so of course he got free! I can't _believe_ you and Minden did this to me! You left him naked on my bed, and made sure he would get loose! Oh, don't bother to deny it. Do you think I am a fool? I can see the guilt written all over your face."

Feeling terrible, Telrion struggled to undo the knots at her wrist. "We only thought to spice up your life, Elanor. I never expected Haldir to treat you like this." He frowned, working at the knots that had no doubt tightened as she struggled to free herself. "He did not harm you, did he?"

"Harm me?" she repeated shrilly. "Of course he did not _harm_ me. But he humiliated me, and for that I will never forgive him. It was supposed to be the other way around! But because of you and Minden and those stupid Lórien brothers, my plan was ruined! How could you betray me like that? What were you thinking? Hurry and untie me so I can strangle you!"

Telrion drew a knife from his boot. "I am sorry, Elanor. Truly sorry. I will cut you free. He should not have done this to you."

She made a small sound that sounded like a sob. "I hate him."

Lord Elrond rose from the cushioned chair behind his ornate carven desk, hearing the muted voice of the March Warden below his window in greeting to Arwen. She had just left his study, and he moved toward the door hoping to catch the Lórien elf before he had moved farther along the walkway near the river.

Stepping out into the bright light of midday, Elrond saw that the March Warden had paused and was leaning against the stone baluster of the railing, staring at the teaming falls below. He turned when Elrond stopped behind him, his expression guarded.

"Good afternoon, Haldir. I had hoped to find you here. In fact, I was just thinking of sending a messenger to summon you."

Haldir bowed his head in greeting. "How may I be of service to you, my lord?"

Elrond smiled. "Nay, Haldir, the question should be how may I be of service to _you_?"

Haldir's chin rose slightly, his eyes narrowing as he studied Elrond.

Elrond motioned for Haldir to follow him back to his study. Upon entering, he walked to a small cabinet and removed a flask of wine. "This is my special blend," he remarked in a casual tone. "I had to replace my flask this morning. It disappeared sometime last evening." He glanced back at his guest. "I find Telrion has a special fondness for . . . borrowing it."

The tilt of Haldir's head changed slightly. "Indeed."

Leading the way to two chairs, Elrond sat down and poured wine into two goblets, and held one out to Haldir. "Make yourself comfortable, March Warden. You and I have much to discuss."

Accepting the drink, Haldir sat down in the chair opposite Elrond and sipped the wine. His expression remained bland, and Elrond chuckled.

"You hide your emotions well, Haldir. Yet I can almost imagine your thoughts at this moment." He leaned forward. "Let me be frank. I know that Telrion and Minden were up to mischief last evening. That does not surprise me. What does surprise me is that Elanor was involved. I managed to get the whole disgraceful story out of Telrion this morning by threatening him with permanent expulsion from my library. He told me what they did to you."

Haldir's expression had hardened, but he made no comment, just took another sip of his wine. Elrond studied him closely, wondering if the glitter in the March Warden's eyes came from anger or some other emotion. "I owe you a great apology for what my people have done," he continued. "It is inexcusable."

Haldir set his goblet on the edge of the desk and met Elrond's gaze. "It was not wholly the fault of your people, my lord. My brothers had their share in the mischief. And they will pay for it when we return to Lothlórien."

"I do not require further details of your experience, Haldir. But I must confide some part of my own inadvertent involvement in this escapade. I said that I did not expect something of this sort from Elanor. What I really meant is that her part in the joke went completely beyond what I expected, although I did anticipate that she would do something sooner or later." With a deep sigh, Elrond rose, carrying the goblet of wine as he moved to sit on the edge of the desk near Haldir. "Let me explain."

"For the past few years, Elanor has been like a daughter to me. Her parents left Rivendell for Mirkwood several years ago, leaving Elanor and her sister Lana in my care. Elanor is more than a century older than her sister, and Lana is well over two hundred, so I did not consider this a problem. I regret to say I was wrong, for I have come to know them better since their parents left. As the elder, Elanor has devoted her life to her sister, who I regret to say is spoiled and selfish. I have watched Elanor sacrifice much that might have given her happiness and joy for Lana's benefit."

He set down his goblet and walked over to one of his bookshelves, absently smoothing a hand over the leather bindings before he swung back to face Haldir. "I only say this so you might understand her motives, and my slight involvement. Elanor has long been a spectator to the many jokes and escapades of my elves, my sons included. Many times she has distracted me, or some other elf, so that the culprits could make their escape. She does not know that I am aware of this."

Haldir leaned on his arm, one finger touching the corner of his mouth, his piercing eyes fastened on Elrond's face. "And you allow this?"

"I have until now. To my knowledge, it is the only thing that she does for her own pleasure, save for gardening. Elanor is like a pretty moth, trapped inside a cocoon, waiting to break out and start living a real life. Her spirit longs to run free, but she has never let it. I've been watching her for some time now, waiting for her to let go. And she finally did it last evening, in a manner far more shocking than I anticipated. Unfortunately for you."

Haldir smiled in such a way that made even Elrond feel uneasy. "So you permitted Telrion and Minden to steal your wine, knowing that they and Elanor had made plans. And you knew nothing of these plans, my lord?"

Many would not have dared to ask this question, but Lothlórien's March Warden was bolder than most. Elrond chose not to take offense; Haldir was within his rights after what had been done to him. "If I had, I would have warned you," Elrond pointed out dryly.

Haldir was silent, his face set in its characteristic mask of cold indifference.

"I would have you understand," Elrond continued, "that it was her sister's dishonesty that drove Elanor to do what she did. Her actions, while misguided and blameworthy, sprang from a heart that is fiercely loyal. Lana's part in this will not go unpunished, I assure you. I am sending her to the strictest of taskmasters, her own mother. Lana will not be happy to find herself under that guiding hand once again. As for Elanor, I have thought of a more appropriate punishment. I have a proposal for you, March Warden."

"And what is that, Lord Elrond?" Haldir asked evenly.

Elrond watched him closely. He had long admired the March Warden of Lothlórien, and now was the time to trust his instincts where this elf was concerned.

"There is an old custom of which you may or may not have heard. In ages past, when an elf has offended another such as Elanor has offended you, they were often required to serve the offended one for a year, or even longer, to atone for their misdeeds. I propose to send Elanor back with you to Lórien as your ward for a year and a day. She can both serve you and learn from you. If you agree."

It amazed Elrond how Haldir still did not betray his thoughts, though his fingers moved to cover more of his mouth as he leaned against his hand. His hard eyes remained fixed on Elrond, studying him with that penetrating gaze for which he was so well known. "I have heard of this, though I do not believe anyone has required such a thing in this age."

Elrond inclined his head. "Nay, it has been a long time. But as Elanor's lord and foster parent, it is my right to require it of her if I wish. What are your thoughts?"

Haldir shifted in his chair, stretching out one long leg. "An interesting idea, my lord. And rather appealing, I admit." Despite the words, Elrond could discern nothing from Haldir's tone.

Elrond moved around his desk to sit down once more. "I owe you some kind of recompense for her actions, and besides, I think it would be beneficial to her to leave Rivendell and visit Lórien. And I think _you_ would be good for her, for I have always found you to be reasonable and just."

Haldir seemed to be considering the idea, mulling it over in his mind. Elrond waited, wondering if he was making a mistake. Haldir and Ellie? Was he imprudent in this matter? No, he did not think so. He had always trusted the guidance of the Valar, and they had never failed him before. Yet the look on Haldir's face gave him pause.

Elrond added, "Elanor needs to be taught a lesson, Haldir, and I believe you can teach her that lesson, in your own honorable way. I know I can trust you to do that, can I not?"

Haldir's eyes narrowed enough to tell Elrond he understood his meaning. Rather than answer the question, the March Warden commented, "I do not understand why you would choose servitude for her if you wish her spirit to be freed. She has already been punished for her action. I took care of that."

"Indeed?" Elrond's eyebrows lifted, but it was obvious Haldir was not going to elaborate. "My reasons, March Warden, are my own. Suffice it to say that I think it would be best. It is a type of servitude, this is true, but it would also be a learning experience."

Haldir sat silent for a number of seconds as if considering this, then gave a short nod. "Then let it be as you wish. I accept your offer, my lord. I will take Elanor as my ward for a year and a day."

Finally, with these last words, Elrond heard the underlying satisfaction in the March Warden's tone. Once more he hoped he was not making a mistake. Pushing his misgivings away, Elrond rose and went to the door, and spoke to another elf outside. Then he returned and paced in front of Haldir, his hands folded behind his back. "Would you like to remain while I give the news to Elanor?"

Haldir smiled a rather strange smile. "I would indeed."

Elanor gripped the frame of her front door, closing her eyes as she anticipated what was to come. Summoned to Lord Elrond! It could not be a coincidence; he must have heard what happened last night. She dreaded knowing what he would say, for in truth she respected Elrond more than anyone else in Rivendell. And although she believed he had affection for her and Lana, she did not know what he would do when he was angry.

She ran a shaking hand through her hair as she closed her door and walked slowly along the path toward Elrond's palace. Had Haldir complained to him? Or had Elrond somehow found out from one of the others? She could not lie about it, that much was certain. Not to Elrond, Lord of Rivendell, the wisest and fairest of all elves, at least in her opinion.

When she finally reached the door to Elrond's study, she paused, listening intently, but heard nothing. Feeling very nervous, she knocked lightly on the ornate door and heard Lord Elrond's deep voice command her to enter. With a deep breath, she stepped into the room and saw the Rivendell lord standing across the room before one of the many bookshelves lining the walls. His eyes fixed sternly on her as she paused, a slight frown creasing his elegant brow. Her heart sank like a stone in the Anduin. Oh, yes, he knew.

"Good day, Elanor," he said levelly. "Come in, do not hesitate."

Elanor took a small step into the room, her hands clenched at her sides. "Good day, my lord," she murmured, and touched her brow in a gesture of respect. She gave him a wavering smile that won no answering response.

"I had an interesting conversation with Telrion this morning." Elrond's gaze stayed steady on her face as he walked slowly toward her, his hands clasped behind his back. His long eyebrows arched when she said nothing. "I know what you did last night, Ellie, and to say that I am disappointed in you would be to understate the matter."

A hot flush of embarrassment rose in her cheeks. "My lord, I only meant to punish Haldir for his careless and cruel behavior toward my sister. Please believe me that I did _not_ tell them to remove his clothes!" She saw the surprise leap into Lord Elrond's face, and realized too late that this was new information to him. Then she gasped and almost fainted when Haldir spoke from behind her.

"It appears that Lord Elrond did not know that precise detail until this moment." He sounded both annoyed and mildly amused, though which was stronger she could not tell. "I do not thank you for telling him."

Elanor whirled to face him. "What are _you_ doing here?"

The open door had blocked her view of him, which he had no doubt intended when he chose his position. He was leaning casually against a bookcase, an open book in his hand, his tall, muscular body seeming very relaxed considering the situation.

Haldir closed the book and replaced it carefully on the shelf, then reached out and shut the door. "I was invited," he said, his voice too smooth for comfort.

"Elanor," Lord Elrond inserted, "I do not like to hear you speak in such an impolite way to my guest. Where are your manners?"

Elanor stared at Haldir for a moment, unnerved by the unflinching way he returned her look. Then she turned to Lord Elrond, almost stuttering in her agitation. "My lord, about what happened, please allow me to explain."

Elrond shook his head. "I need no explanation, Elanor. And I do not care to hear any more of the . . . intimate details. What passed between you and Haldir should remain between the two of you. But this I do know—he has been dealt a great wrong. In mistreating him as you have done, you have not only damaged your own honor, but mine as well because it happened here, in Rivendell, where I am lord. I now realize that I have been too lenient with you."

Elanor stiffened, wondering at his meaning. "My lord, I was greatly distressed on Lana's account! She was hurt—"

"Lana was not hurt," Elrond cut in sharply. "She lied to you. She lied as she has done countless times before, to you and to others, including your parents." He lifted his hand when she opened her mouth to protest. "Do not argue, Elanor. I know this is hard for you to hear. We do not like to see the faults of our loved ones. But did you ever think to verify her claim? Did you ever see the March Warden do anything that confirmed her story? Nay, and that grieves me. It tells me you are far too hasty and impetuous and gullible. It also tell me you are in need of guidance by a firm and steady hand."

Shocked to the core, Elanor opened and shut her mouth. Lana had lied? All those tears, all the emotions, the stories . . . for two years? Was this possible? If so, she felt like the biggest fool that had ever lived. Anguish rose in her throat, and she blinked several times for fear that tears would erupt. From the corner of her eye, she saw that Haldir had moved to where he could see her better, his arms folded over his broad chest, his expression unsympathetic and aloof. She knew he must be secretly enjoying this, and it mortified her to know that he was witnessing her shame.

Perhaps because he _was_ here, she felt compelled to be defiant. "I meant him no harm, my lord," she insisted, her chin lifted. "Haldir simply has no sense of humor."

Haldir's snort made Elrond glance his way. "I think you are lucky he does have a sense of humor, Elanor. As for me, I do not find it humorous in the least. In fact, I have a penance for you to perform."

Elanor tensed. A penance? "I do not know what I can do," she said carefully, "other than to say that if I was mistaken, then I am sorry for what I did." She knew she did not sound in the least sorry, but that was the best she could do right now until she had time to talk to Lana and come to terms with what had happened. What if Lord Elrond was mistaken? What if Haldir had duped Elrond into believing a lie?

As if reading her mind, Elrond spoke again. "You must accept what I have told you as the truth. Lana fabricated the whole story of a romance with Haldir. She is being sent to Mirkwood to be reunited with your parents. That is her punishment. As for yours . . . " He paused, and glanced again at the March Warden.

Haldir's tiny smile made her blood run cold. What had they discussed? Frantically, she looked back at Elrond. "What, my lord?"

"I have given some thought to the situation, Elanor, and I have made my decision."

Elanor shivered. She had always found Elrond to be kind, but at this precise moment he seemed pitiless. "What must I do?" she asked in trepidation.

"I am sending you to Lothlórien with Haldir. For a year and a day, you will serve him and learn from him as his ward. You will be subject to his guidance and his commands. When the time is up, you may return here to Rivendell, if that is your wish."

Elanor had stopped breathing. She stared at Elrond, reeling with shock, unable to believe her ears. "You are . . . joking?" she asked him in a small voice.

"No, Ellie, I am not. It will be a good experience for you. You must trust me on this." Hazily, she recognized the thread of gentleness in Elrond's voice, but she could not understand. _A good experience? To be put into Haldir's power?_

She shook her head. "No, my lord. I cannot agree to this." She dared not look at Haldir.

"Why not?" Elrond replied, his gaze direct. "Give me a sound reason and I will reconsider."

Elanor moistened her lips. "Because . . . we do not like each other."

"That is not a sound reason."

"And," she added quickly, "because I fear him."

"You fear him? What has he done that you should fear him?" Elrond's voice was demanding, his eyes searing her with their intensity.

"Yes," Haldir added, "why do you fear me? Did I harm you in some way?"

She darted a glance at him, then looked back at Elrond. Lying was not something that came easily to her. "I fear him because . . . " Words failed her. She looked back at Haldir. "Is this your idea?" she asked wrathfully.

He straightened and walked closer to her, his movements as graceful as a cat. "Nay, it was not, but I find I like the idea better with each passing moment." His gaze seemed mocking.

Elanor glared at him, then turned back to Elrond. "My lord, I am sure I can make it up to Haldir in some other way. Surely this is not necessary."

"Nay, I have made my decision, Elanor. What you did was deplorable." He paused for a moment and she could see a flash of sympathy in Elrond's eyes. "You will do as I say. I give you no choice in the matter."

"Lord Elrond, please," she said miserably. "I have never done anything like this before. You must take that into account."

"You have done many things of which you think I am unaware, Elanor. Too many times you have been what I would call a silent accomplice to mischief and bedevilment. Do not argue with me," he countered, lifting his hand, "and do not think of this so much as a punishment as an opportunity to learn. You will bear this in a manner worthy of you. You will leave when Haldir leaves, which I believe is tomorrow. So I suggest you go and prepare yourself."

Hearing the finality in his tone, Elanor's throat constricted. She nodded quickly, and turned to leave. Haldir's low voice stopped her at the door.

"You will not need much," he said.

Elrond found it interesting to watch the way Haldir's eyes followed Elanor as she left the room. So that was the way the wind blew, was it? Contrary to the public face he was putting on, Lórien's March Warden was not indifferent to little Ellie, and this reassured Elrond a good deal. Haldir had often struck the Rivendell lord as an elf who kept himself too closed off from emotion, so perhaps they would be good for each other. Elrond was aware that the ladies found Haldir an intriguing challenge, and that Haldir often availed himself of their company. But that was no more than passion of a physical nature, and with ladies who understood the rules of the game.

It was obvious that Elanor stood in no danger of being mistreated by Haldir. If what Elrond suspected was true, Haldir had teased her a little, which could well be the first time Elanor had received such concentrated and focused male attention. The Lord of Rivendell smiled slightly at the thought and returned his attention to Haldir.

"If you would like to follow and speak with her, go right ahead," he suggested.

The Lórien elf glanced at him, his icy mask firmly in place. "I hardly think she is in a frame of mind to talk to me, my lord. Right now she loathes the sight of me." Ah yes, now that Elrond's ear was attuned, he could hear the faint hint of ruefulness in Haldir's voice. It was subtle, but it was there.

Elrond shrugged and turned away to hide his smile. "You must do as you see fit," he said, keeping his tone uninterested. "Good day, Haldir."

He noticed Haldir left the room rather swiftly.

tbc


	4. Chapter Four

**Chapter Four**

Overwhelmed with conflicting emotions, Elanor headed straight home, her eyes fixed upon the stone-lined path beneath her feet. A great lump formed in her throat as she reeled inside, trying to take in her sister's betrayal and the enormity of what had just happened. A ward to Haldir? Lana had lied? How could Lana have done such a thing? And why? It was too much to comprehend, too much to bear. If she could speak with Lana, then perhaps she could begin to understand what was happening.

As she walked along, she heard Telrion's familiar voice call from behind. She halted, eyes pressed closed for a moment to calm herself. She wanted to give him a piece of her mind, but she did not want to burst into tears, which right now she was on the verge of doing. Still it was just Telrion, so what did it matter? She swung around only to find that he was not alone, but rather accompanied by Rúmil and Orophin. Elanor braced herself, schooling her face into a stoic expression. She was not about to reveal her innermost feelings to the two Lórien brothers.

"Elanor, wait!" Telrion called again, hurrying to catch up to her. She saw him flinch at the look she gave him. His handsome face wore a guilty albeit genuinely remorseful expression. "Please, Ellie, you must understand that I could not lie to Lord Elrond. He knows just what to say, and the way he gazed at me . . . those eyes of his . . . I cannot explain, but it was impossible to withhold the story."

Elanor folded her arms over her chest. "You are still a traitor in my eyes," she informed him. "And you!" She rounded on Haldir's handsome brothers, both of whom stopped short and stared at her. "I knew from the moment I saw the two of you that you were trouble! Do you realize what you have done?"

"Done?" Rúmil's blue eyes sparked with indignation. "What we have done, young elleth, is to land _ourselves_ into an Orc-load of trouble! And all in an attempt to please you! We only did what you bid us—"

"You did a great deal more than I bid you," she interrupted curtly, "and you and Orophin deserve any trouble that comes to you."

Looking offended, Rúmil tightened his lips, leaving it to Orophin to answer. "Rest assured," he said in a cool voice, "thatwe will pay dearly for our part when we return to Lórien. Haldir has power over us as well as others." Orophin shook his head, his lips twisting into a slight grimace. "I very much fear that neither of us will see the sight of our beloved home city for months to come."

At the moment, Elanor had no pity to spare; their penalty seemed small compared to hers. "Oh, a curse I am sure," she replied, "but nothing compared to the punishment I have been given." She had meant to speak the words with sarcasm, but to her dismay they came out sounding wobbly and emotional.

Orophin frowned. "What has Lord Elrond commanded?" He was less cold and sounded suddenly concerned. "I willingly admit that a large part of the blame lies on our shoulders. If your lord has burdened you with an unfair share of the guilt, then I will speak to him on your behalf, no matter what Haldir says. That is, of course, if you wish me to, Elanor."

Elanor meant to snap at the tall, silver-haired elf, but found her words dying on her tongue. Touched by his offer, she could feel tears trying to prick their way into her eyes. "That is very honorable of you, Orophin, and I thank you. But Lord Elrond has made his decision and I must abide by it. He is not going to change his mind." She swallowed hard. "I am to travel with you to Lothlórien as . . . as your brother's ward for a year and a day."

All three elves stared at her with shock on their faces, but Telrion spoke first. "His ward! Haldir's ward? But I have never heard of such a thing! It must be a jest, Elanor. Lord Elrond only thinks to make you worry for a while to teach you a lesson."

"Aye, it must be a jest," Rúmil agreed.

"It is not a jest," Elanor replied, her voice very low.

"Elrond would not do such a thing," Rumil protested. "What would our brother want with a ward? He has always cared for himself. He dislikes having inexperienced hangers-on around him. He barely contends with us at times." He paused, studying her face with far more sympathy than before. "Has Haldir accepted?"

Elanor nodded mutely, the tears of frustration a choking knot in her throat. They were right. What did Haldir want with a ward? Why would he accept unless he meant to torment her, to punish her even more than he had already done? An inexperienced hanger-on, that is what she would be to him. She would constantly annoy him, like a mosquito buzzing around in his life. Did Elrond really think this would be good for her?

"I have heard of this ward business," Orophin put in thoughtfully, "but it has not been done in an age. I cannot believe this is serious, Elanor."

Elanor shook her head, her heart heavy. "It is serious, Orophin. Lord Elrond meant what he said. I am to go and gather my things and say my good-byes, for when you all leave tomorrow, I will go with you." She reached out and hugged Telrion, a quick movement that seemed to catch him by surprise. "I will miss you, Tel."

"I will miss you too, Ellie," he said gruffly as she kissed him lightly on his cheek. He kissed her back, and gave her a tight hug. "But you will come back to us."

"True," Rúmil interjected, with a sudden, charming smile. "What is a year? A fleeting moment, nothing more."

Elanor nearly said she did not think a year spent being ordered around by Haldir would pass as quickly as he implied. But she did not, for the emotion was again surging inside her. "Ask Minden to stop by later so I can say goodbye. I understand we leave early tomorrow morn, and I may not see him otherwise." She turned quickly, the tears threatening to fall once more. Hastily, she walked away, wondering how she was going to survive without them, her two best friends.

Elanor huddled at the kitchen table, silent tears rolling down her cheeks while she waited for her sister to return. At last she heard Lana come into the small cottage, humming that same irritating tune under her breath. Elanor lifted her head from where it had been resting on her hands, and watched Lana sweep into the kitchen, her small nose buried in a rose she'd plucked from Elanor's most prized rose bush. Not two days past, Elanor had asked her not to cut any more roses in order to give the bush a chance to grow. Not that it mattered now; there would be no one here to tend it.

Lana stopped short at the sight of her. "Ellie? Whatever is the matter?" She tossed the rose on the table.

Elanor stood up so quickly the chair in which she sat fell back with a crash. An explosion of fury, indignation and frustration cascaded through her mind as she pointed a shaking finger at Lana. "You! How can you stand there and ask me such a question? You lied to me, that is what is the matter! You deceived me!"

A crafty expression flitted across Lana's face. "I know not what you mean, Ellie. I only picked one rose. Surely, that is not worth all this fuss."

"I am not speaking about the rose. I am speaking about—" Elanor stopped, pressing her hand to her chest in an effort to calm herself.

"Elanor, dear, you are getting so emotional." Lana put on a look of concern. "Has someone hurt you, dear? One of the Lórien elves perhaps? Someone didn't look at you?"

"How dare you speak to me like that!" Elanor could no longer hold in her anger. "After all I have done for you, all the time I have lavished on you and your needs! After the love I have given you all these years! I have always believed in you, even though I knew you were spoiled. Yes, you are spoiled, so do not look at me like that! And what am I to believe in now?"

"Sister, you are being melodramatic. Let me get you some wine to settle your nerves."

Elanor took a deep breath, closing her eyes for a moment. "I do not want wine. I do not want anything from you, not ever again. Do you hear me? Do you know what you have done? Do you have the least idea? Do you even care?"

Lana eyed her older sister warily. "I have done nothing since yesterday except to visit my friend. Whatever has happened can have nothing to do with me."

Elanor turned to face her. "Then allow me to refresh your memory," she said shakily. "You told me that Haldir, March Warden of Lothlórien, toyed with your affections. You told me you were lovers and that he cruelly forsook you. I _believed_ your whole sordid story because you are my sister and I trusted you! Do you now understand? I believed you and ached for you! I believed this outrageous story because I trusted you! And I wanted to seek vengeance on your behalf so badly that I took it into my own hands to teach that arrogant elf a lesson!"

Lana actually had the nerve to giggle. "Well, bravo, dear sister. You have stood up to someone for once." She ducked as Elanor threw a teacup at her. It crashed into pieces on the wall behind her. "Ellie, for the love of Elbereth, get a hold of yourself! What did you do? Whatever it was, I am sure it could not have been so bad. No doubt he will get over it."

"Oh, he will enjoy getting over it," Elanor said unevenly. "And while he does so, he will enjoy watching me suffer. Lord Elrond has decreed that I must travel with Haldir to serve as his ward in recompense for what I have done."

Lana gaped at her, looking extremely put out. "A ward? You are going to be Haldir's ward? You will be with him?" Her voice was now waspish and resentful. "What is the punishment in _that_?"

Elanor nearly hurled another teacup at her. "I am not going as his . . . his equal, but as his minion. I am to serve him and obey him."

"Good gracious, Elanor, what did you do to warrant such a thing? Tie him up and drag him into the forest?" Lana let out a derisive titter at the thought.

Elanor gave a twisted smile. "I did not drag him into the forest, but otherwise your guess is very close to the truth."

Lana's eyes widened and her smirk disappeared. "You could not! Not Haldir! Ellie, what did you do?"

Elanor dragged in a shaky breath and cooled her voice. "Suffice it to say that I have impinged upon Lord Elrond's honor by treating his guest poorly. Now I must make amends." She stared at Lana, her chin rising slightly. "But the blame lies not only on my shoulders, Lana. Lord Elrond knows of your lies and deceptions."

Lana's pretty lip curled. "Oh, what can he know? If _you_ are in trouble, you have only yourself to blame. I will deny anything Lord Elrond tells me you said. I will tell him you made it up because you wanted to attract Haldir's attention for yourself. You have always been jealous of me. Everyone here knows that."

Elanor sat down, Lana's words destroying any remaining doubt in her mind. Despite her good intentions, she had failed to properly guide Lana as she had meant to do. Her disappointment in her sister was so deep that right now all she could feel was a great, painful hole in her heart. "I did not tell him anything," she said sadly. "He already knew. And he plans to send you to Mother."

_"What?"_ Lana gasped in outrage. "He cannot send me to Mother! I am not a child anymore! I will not go!" She stomped her foot, thrusting her bottom lip out.

"Then you will be on your own," came a hard, firm voice from behind them. Both maidens spun around as Lord Elrond stepped into the room. "Lana, you are hereby exiled from Rivendell until I hear from your mother that you have changed your ways. You have caused great injury here with your lies and schemes. You have harmed your sister as well as others. And I will no longer allow you to dishonor my name. You will prepare to leave on the morrow. I will send an escort with you to Mirkwood where you will stay until you have mended your ways." The elven lord fixed his incisive stare upon Lana, then turned and left the small cottage.

Elanor rolled her eyes as Lana began to shriek.

Elanor closed the door to her cottage and gave her small, tidy home one last look. A year seemed such a long time, although she logically knew it was not. Who would tend her beautiful roses? Her lovely garden?

Sighing, she wiped away the tears that clouded her vision with the heel of her hand, then raised her chin proudly. She would not leave whimpering like a child, nor would she give Haldir the satisfaction of seeing her cry. She had made her bed, now she would lie in it and do it with courage. Yet the thought of beds and Haldir brought a quick flush to her cheeks. Would she ever be able to erase from her mind the image of him on her bed? And what of him? What image would he see when he looked at her? Just thinking about it made her cringe with embarrassment.

Carrying her travel bag stuffed with personal belongings, she trudged along the well-worn path that led to the stone-lined street which in turn led to the gathering place near the exit from the city. The Lórien elves had congregated there and were milling about, waiting for the signal to leave. Trying to be inconspicuous, she hurried to where Lord Elrond stood next to the Lady Galadriel. They both turned when she arrived, and she bowed her head first to the Lady of Light and then to Lord Elrond.

"So you are Elanor." Galadriel's brilliant blue eyes settled on her, seeming to see right through into the deepest shadows of her heart. The Lórien Lady's soft smile played around her lips, making Elanor blink uneasily. She had heard tales of Galadriel's abilities to see within the very hearts and souls of her people. What did the Lady sense when she looked at her? No answers were revealed.

Elanor turned to Lord Elrond. "I am ready," she said bravely.

Elrond smiled and put his hands on her shoulders, giving them an encouraging, tender squeeze. "You will make the best of this, Elanor. I have great faith in you. You have been sequestered all your life, and that has not been good for you. Consider this a chance to broaden your horizons."

Elanor somehow managed a nod and a small smile, though she would very much have liked to argue the point.

"Caras Galadhon is the fairest of cities." A deep, all-too-familiar voice spoke from behind her.

Knowing she would have to face Haldir sooner or later, Elanor turned. The fingers of her right hand tightened on the handle of her travel bag, while her left hand clenched into an involuntary fist. "So I have been told," she replied, putting a chill in her voice. "Perhaps my opinion of it will be different."

She knew not what to expect from him, perhaps a rebuke for her remark, but Haldir only gazed at her and said, "You will ride beside the Lady Galadriel. She has requested your company for the first part of our journey. I will find you when we stop." He removed the bag from her hand and set it on the ground, then reached for the reins of a small white palfrey and drew it forward. "This will be your mount," he informed her impassively. Clearly he was not going to be easy to provoke, especially not in front of others.

Before she could object, he had wrapped his hands around her waist and lifted her into the saddle, and done it far too easily for her peace of mind. For in that moment of contact, she could feel the power of his strength. Had his hands lingered a moment too long? Nay, she must be imagining things. She bit her lip, aware that a flush had risen in her cheeks. Would she react this way each time he touched her?

To cover her confusion, she shifted slightly, rearranging the fabric of her gown where it had ridden up. She glanced at Haldir and saw his gray eyes studying her as he secured her belongings onto the back of her horse, but what he was thinking she could not fathom. Looking away, she turned her gaze to Galadriel, who was now seated upon her own horse. Beside her, on his own horse, sat the Lord Celeborn, and the pair were a golden couple, brilliant in the morning sun. Haldir walked away as Lord Elrond guided Elanor's horse closer to Lady Galadriel's, addressing Elanor as he did so.

"I will tend your garden with all the care that you would give it," he said softly. "It will remain as you leave it, I promise. And as I said before, your home in Rivendell remains open to you, if you wish to return to it." Elrond patted her hand, a slight smile playing over his lips. "I am sure you will brighten the lives of Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn in ways they cannot yet imagine."

Elanor leaned down to kiss Elrond's cheek. "Farewell, my lord. I will uphold my honor and yours. I will not disappoint you." She barely got the words out before the lump in her throat prevented further speech.

They had traveled most of the day, and the sun lay just above the trees when they stopped. Elanor slid from her horse, staggering slightly as the feeling rushed back into her stiff legs. One day into the journey and already she was sore, especially her backside, and she was feeling very cross and thirsty and just a bit emotional. She did not recall ever riding a horse for this long at a time, not once in her life, and they had days more of travel ahead. She arched her back, surreptitiously trying to remove the kinks without being observed by Haldir, for she did not wish him to know of her weakness.

"The ride is long, but I assure you that riding is better than walking the whole way."

Startled, she whirled around to find Haldir behind her, his expression bland. How had he managed to come up behind her when she'd thought he was nowhere near? Although he hid it well, she was sure he must be taking delight in her discomfort.

She lifted her chin and stared back at him. "Others walk," she said shortly. "Do you not think I could keep up?"

His eyes bored into her. "I am sure you are stubborn enough to force yourself to keep pace. But I need you to be quick on your feet. The way to Lórien is long and can be dangerous." He held out four waterskins. "There is a stream on the other side of that hill. Fill these and return." His eyebrows rose slightly when Elanor only stared first at him, then at the skins. "Elanor?" he prompted gently.

Elanor opened her mouth, then shut it with a snap. She was here to serve him, and it seemed he could not wait for her to start. Without a word or a second glance, she took the waterskins and pushed past him, her nose in the air.

In truth, it felt good to move and stretch her legs, but she would not tell him that. On the other side of the hill, the sound of the elves was quickly lost, overlaid by the rushing of the stream, the water burbling and twisting merrily over the rocks as it wound its way down the hillside. Elanor went to the edge of the stream, but the large boulders rimming the bank blocked her access to the flowing water. If Haldir had sent her here to see her fail, she would not give him the satisfaction. There had to be a way to the water.

Studying the situation, she knelt and then lay down on top of one of the boulders, stretching out her hand to see if she could reach the water. But, it was as she feared, it flowed beyond her fingertips, completely out of reach.

Frowning, she rose and looked up and down the stream. Was there a better place? She scrambled further along the bank, looking for an easy path or area of access. Finally, just a little downstream and around a bend, she spied a smaller grouping of rocks and hurried toward them. The water there was flowing fast.

Grimacing slightly, she hung the leather waterskin straps over her shoulder and pulled her dress up above her knees, for she would have to step well into the stream to get the clearest water. Then she kicked off her slippers and inched into the water, but a misstep made the skins slip down her arm, and she had to let go of her dress to keep them from falling into the stream.

She stood still for a moment, staring down at the hem of her gown, now wet and swirling around her calves. Why had he asked this of her? Did he not realize how difficult it would be? Of course he did, he was experienced and cunning.

She clenched her teeth and plowed stubbornly onward. She would show him that he could not defeat her, the arrogant elf.

Hidden by the trees, Haldir and Rúmil watched Elanor's floundering, Rúmil with amusement and Haldir with keen interest. Although relaxed, he and Rúmil both had their bows at the ready.

Ever since Elanor's skirt had dropped into the water, Rúmil had been struggling to contain his laughter. "Shall we help her?" he asked, when, a moment later, they saw her slip and nearly fall.

Haldir shook his head. "Not yet. Give her a chance. I want to see what she will do."

Regaining her balance after her near fall, Elanor gritted her teeth, her feet going numb from the chilling water. She forced herself forward, feeling her way over the slippery rocks, inching toward a large, flat boulder midway in the stream. Once she reached it, she could fill each waterskin and be able to set them on the rock until she was done. It would be easy.

The plan would no doubt have gone seamlessly if her foot had not again slipped on a moss-covered rock. Thrown forward, her arms flailing, she gasped as she went completely under the water, silently cursing every Lothlórien elf in existence as the shockingly cold water filled her mouth and nose.

Coughing and choking, Elanor righted herself, shoving her sodden hair away from her face as a small whimper escaped her throat. She could not recall living through a more horrible day in her entire life! Not only was she soaked to the skin, her dress was clinging uncomfortably and very revealingly to her flesh. Somehow her cloak had come off and was already gone, carried away by the current. Yet she had managed to retain her hold of the waterskins, and by Mordor, she would not let go of them if it killed her! She would show Haldir that she could do this task!

Teeth chattering, she straightened her shoulders, eyeing the rock not ten feet ahead. She turned and looked behind her, gauging the distance to the shore, then glanced upward. Already the sun was starting to sink behind the trees, casting long shadows that stretched over the stream. She ought to hurry and get back before they sent someone to look for her. Her feet were so cold she could no longer feel them.

Reaching the rock at last, Elanor set the waterskins upon it and filled each of them, resealed them with their corks, then flung them irritably over her shoulder. They were far heavier than she had expected, and as she turned to go, her foot slipped into a crevice between the rocks. Again she gasped as a sharp pain shot up her leg from her ankle, and her arms waving wildly in an attempt for balance, she found herself floundering once again beneath the water.

Somehow she regained her footing, coughing hard, her ankle throbbing with pain.

"I thought it a simple task to fill the waterskins, Elanor." Haldir's low, golden voice seemed to come out of nowhere.

Blinking water from her eyes, she looked around to see him watching her, his feet planted firmly on a large boulder near the point where she had entered the water. He looked taller and more imposing than usual from this vantage, or perhaps it was only because she was feeling like a small, drowned rat at the moment.

She glared at him, raising her chin in an effort to look dignified instead of wretched and bedraggled. "It was a simple task and I have done it," she retorted, making no effort to keep the displeasure from her voice. She was barely able to speak she was so cold.

He was not actually smiling, but his eyes held a lazy glitter. "I am glad to hear it."

Biting her lip, she winced while trying to lift up the full waterskins and wrest her throbbing ankle from the confines of the stream-bed. His snide comments only aggravated her. Ignoring the pain, she tried to move her foot, breathing very hard and wishing she were dead. The shooting pains, combined with the bone-biting cold, were making her slightly dizzy.

"You appear to need assistance." He splashed through the water, somehow keeping his balance on the slippery rocks with no difficulty at all.

"I can finish my task," she said stubbornly. "I do not need your help." She clutched the waterskins to her body, at the same time trying to shield her chest from his gaze. When wet, her gown was _very_ revealing, and although he had already seen much, she did not care to give him the satisfaction of a repeat performance.

"If I wait until you extricate yourself, it will be dark, which we do not want. There are many things out here beside you and me." Haldir pulled the waterskins from her shoulder, easily tossing them the long distance to the shore, then turned back to her, one dark brow arched. "Is there some other problem you would like to tell me about?"

Pinned by those grey eyes, Elanor looked away. "My f-foot is caught between the rocks. I cannot move it. I . . . I've twisted my ankle." How she hated to admit that to him, and now her teeth were starting to chatter!

Haldir bent down and reached into the flowing water, his hand sliding down Elanor's lower leg to the trapped foot. The strength of the current had lodged the rock firmly against her, but he was able to slide his fingers beneath it to loosen it. Elanor's small cry of relief was short-lived as she once again started to lose her balance, but Haldir caught her only moments before she would have plunged a third time into the stream.

Very softly, he murmured, "If you wanted to swim, Elanor, you should have removed your gown first. Perhaps you could have persuaded me to join you. Although I admit it _is_ rather cold." Chuckling at her outraged look, he lifted her into his arms.

"If I'd w-wanted to s-swim I would have ch-chosen a warmer river," Elanor told him, her teeth now chattering badly. The warmth of his body sent disturbing sensations spiraling through her. Just as when he had lifted her onto the palfrey, she noticed how very strong he was, and to her shame, she actually felt tingles of pleasure unlike anything she had ever experienced. In her fantasies, she had dreamt of being carried like this, but not by this arrogant elf or under these circumstances!

"You can p-put me down," she quavered, trying to sound stern. As if to contradict her statement, she huddled closer to him, shivering hard and secretly hoping he did not drop her once more into the stream.

He ignored her statement as he carried her easily over the slippery rocks and across the shore to an area covered with tall grass, where he laid her gently down. "Your lips are turning blue," he remarked as he sat back on his heels. He unbuckled his quiver and set it aside, then pulled his cloak from his shoulders and draped it around her, then turned his attention to her ankle. She wanted to refuse the cloak's warmth, but she found she could not.

"Thank y-you," she said quietly, but turned her gaze away when he looked up. He was not supposed to be like this, chivalrous and kind. Nay, he was cold, aloof, selfish and cruel, and she disliked him heartily. Feeling miserable, she closed her eyes, willing the throbbing pain to go away so she could put some distance between them.

And the throbbing did go away, but not in the way she anticipated, for it happened very quickly and unexpectedly. One moment she felt Haldir's long fingers wrapped around her ankle, and the next moment warmth, and then the pain began to fade.

"You can h-heal?" Elanor stared at him, her lips pressed together in an attempt to control her shuddering. The hot rush of warmth spreading through her leg answered her question, and Haldir only glanced at her, arching a long, elegant brow. The expression in his eyes was hidden once again, and Elanor wondered what he was thinking at that moment. Then he stood up, gripping her wrist, and pulled her to her feet.

His hand hovered near her elbow while she tested the ankle. It was tender, but it held her weight. She looked up, just in time to see him stiffen, the hand on her elbow tightening almost painfully, his head tilted slightly as if he were listening.

"What is—" she started to ask, but Haldir covered her mouth, pulling her hard against him. The forest had grown much darker, and the rush of the stream seemed louder and more threatening. Elanor's eyes widened as Haldir whirled suddenly, pulling her against him as he dove back into the grass with a grunt. Bewildered, she stared at him, then comprehension dawned. Just inches from where she had just been standing, a black arrow had bounced off a rock.

"Goblins," he snarled. He rolled over her, pinning her for a moment to the ground, his face close to hers. "Run back to Celeborn! Go!"

He sprang to his feet, yanking her up and pushing her away from him as he reached for his quiver. Elanor just stood there, frozen with horror. Across the stream, a number of small, hideous, cackling creatures had revealed themselves, but just as she saw this, Rúmil stepped out from behind a tree and let loose an arrow. Had he been there the whole time?

"Run!" Haldir snapped out, his voice like the crack of a whip. So fast it was almost a blur, he pulled an arrow from his quiver and nocked his bow. Rúmil had already killed one, and Elanor did not stay to see what happened to the others. She ran.

Clambering as fast as she could over the hill, she screamed when someone caught her from behind and lifted her off her feet. An amused chuckle calmed her somewhat as she was set down again. She whirled to find Orophin grinning at her.

"Goblins!" she cried, her eyes wide. "Go and help him!"

Orophin arched a quizzical brow, but did as she bid, pulling his bow from his shoulder as he disappeared over the rise of the hill.

Elanor hurried forward, heading straight for Galadriel with vague thoughts of shielding the Lady from danger with her own body, but realized at once that it would not be necessary. Celeborn stood nearby, his bow in his hand, his face alert. Elanor could hear the fearsome cries of the Goblins piercing the night. She had never heard such a blood-chilling sound in her life.

Galadriel sat on a small boulder, her blue eyes fixed calmly on Elanor as she stumbled out of the brush. Her pale brows rose as she assessed Elanor's sodden clothing where it was peeking out from under Haldir's cloak.

"Are you unharmed, Elanor?" Galadriel rose gracefully from her seat.

Clutching the cloak tightly, Elanor nodded.

Galadriel held out a graceful hand. "Then come, child. The goblins are foolish to attack us and will regret their decision. And Celeborn guards us well, although he would much rather be firing arrows than be my bodyguard." She smiled, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "You look cold."

Elanor shivered in her wet dress. "Yes, my lady. Very."

"Then you must change." Taking hold of Elanor's hand, she drew her between the horses, and directed Elanor to extract another dress from her pack.

"I . . . I have to change out here?" Elanor asked, staring nervously around her, knowing the elves were close although she could not see them.

"Unless you wish to remain wet, then yes, you must. Haldir has been considerate and loaned you his cloak. I can use that to shield you behind the horses. But hurry."

Elanor sighed, trembling not only from cold, but fear. How could they be so calm? They were being attacked, and the Lady Galadriel was having her disrobe in the middle of the fight? Blessed Elbereth, she didn't know what to think.

She slid between the horses, but glanced up into the trees, knowing the Lothlórien elves penchant for climbing swiftly into them for cover as well as the advantage of height. She could see nothing, but that did not mean they were not there. Shuddering from the cool night air, she peeled the soaked dress off her shoulders and down her hips, letting it drop onto the ground. Her jaw clenched with dismay as she realized she had not thought to remove a dry chemise from her pack. She gave another quick look up into the trees, but still saw nothing.

As swiftly as possible, she yanked off the wet undergarment and pulled the dry gown over her head, its fabric catching on her damp skin instead of sliding down easily as it would normally have done. Her hands shaking, she was adjusting it into its proper place just as a harsh cackle overhead made both Elanor and Galadriel look up.

The grinning goblin sat on a branch high above them, an arrow nocked in its bow as it leered. Distracted by Elanor, the stupid creature had apparently forgotten about the battle, but an instant later a reminder came as two arrows simultaneously thudded into its chest. Its eyes wide with surprise, it fell heavily out of the tree only a short distance from where Elanor and the Lady stood.

Another laugh came from above, this time from Rúmil. "We have a new strategy," he called down. "We will use Elanor to lure our enemies. They make an easy target when mesmerized by her beauty!" He was now visible, balanced on a branch not so very far away.

Elanor could feel her face flame with color. What a nightmare this was turning into! Her only consolation was that it had not been Haldir. And where was Celeborn? Even he was no longer here! Was he also in the trees?

Galadriel returned Haldir's cloak to Elanor's shoulders, reversing it so that the dampened side faced out. "Pay no heed to his teasing, Elanor," she whispered. "His eyes were on the goblin not on you, and it will only make it worse if you react."

Perhaps the warden heard, for he sent them both a cheeky grin before retreating into the leafy branches of the trees.

Elanor stowed her wet clothing, then sank down on a nearby boulder, noting that the forest had grown quiet again. "Where is Haldir?" she asked before she could think. She regretted the question, but it was too late, and she saw Galadriel's small smile.

Galadriel sat down beside her and handed her a comb. "He is close by. By now he will have moved further into the forest to be sure there are none left hiding." She patted Elanor's hand. "Haldir and his wardens are always prepared for an attack. We are safe."

Elanor shuddered and began to comb the wet tangles from her hair. Was what had happened here so commonplace? Had she been so sheltered in Rivendell she had forgotten the dangers that lay outside the protected borders? Indeed, she had.

She clutched at the cloak, breathing in the woodsy male scent that permeated the fabric. "I fear I am to blame," she said unhappily. "I . . . took too long at my task, and must have attracted them somehow. And if Haldir had not thrown me to the ground, a goblin arrow would have struck me."

"A close call," Galadriel admitted, "but Haldir was there to protect you." She paused for a second and added evenly, "As March Warden, he would not let you be harmed even if it meant his life."

Elanor swallowed, feeling sudden guilt for her unkind thoughts of Haldir.

"You would do well to trust him," the Lady added, as if she had read Elanor's thoughts.

Elanor looked down at the damp tendrils of hair curling around the tips of her fingers. For some reason, Galadriel's words touched her, giving her a fleeting and very pleasant sense of security. It seemed clear that Elanor had much to learn about Lothlórien's March Warden. But one thing she already knew—she had been a fool to think that such an elf could ever be interested in Lana.

A few moments later Rúmil dropped lightly out of the trees, and landed gracefully near the dead goblin. Bending down, he pulled the arrows from its chest and shoved them into his quiver, then lifted it by one ankle and hurled it farther away from the ladies. He then turned and dusted off his hands, winking at Elanor as he bowed his head to Galadriel. "Lord Celeborn is with Haldir, my lady. We have found no other traces of goblins. Haldir wishes to continue quickly, and our Lord agrees."

Galadriel nodded, and Rúmil brought forward the Lady's horse, and lifted her into the saddle. Before he could do the same for Elanor, Lord Celeborn returned, glancing at Elanor with unfathomable dark eyes that seemed to touch her as he strode toward Galadriel. And then an unsettling thought entered Elanor's mind. Who had fired the second arrow into the goblin? Not Rúmil. And Celeborn had still been with them then, had he not? She was almost certain it was so.

Just then she saw Haldir emerge from the trees and head straight toward her with long, purposeful strides. He had taken the time to go back for her shoes and the waterskins; she watched him hand the waterskins to another elf, then continue on with her shoes. He halted before her, his face inscrutable, and the sudden thought crossed her mind that these Sylvan elves were far more dangerous than a Rivendell elf would ever be.

His piercing gaze raked over her, taking in her dry clothes without comment as he held out the shoes. "You are unhurt?"

Elanor nodded and slipped them on to her feet, then was startled when he caught firm hold of her elbow and drew her a short distance away from the others. Her pulse gave an involuntary leap. Was he going to apologize for throwing her to the ground? Or for sending her to the stream and putting her in danger? Or for teasing her?

"When I told you to run, you hesitated. Why?" His voice was harsh.

Taken aback, she gaped up at him. "I . . . I do not know. I could not move."

"A sorry excuse. In the future, if I give you such a command, I expect you to obey at once and without question. Is that understood?" His grey eyes glittered with suppressed anger. Anger directed at her! How could he be angry at _her?_

Elanor eyed him with resentment. And to think that for a few moments, she had actually felt kindly disposed toward him! Even worse, she had been concerned for his safety, the high and mighty elf!

She made her lip curl with contempt. "In your boorish way, yes, you have made yourself clear. I understand you very well, my _lord_."

He gave her a long, hard look. "No, Elanor, I do not think you do. But you will learn."

Without another word, he took her by the arm and almost dragged her to her horse, then proceeded to lift her into the saddle with far less gentleness than he had used before. This time she noticed that his hands did not linger at her waist, nor did he look at her. And it disturbed her in a way she did not understand, putting a disheartening, confusing twist on an already difficult day.

Shivering despite her warmth, she watched while Haldir and some of his elves gathered the goblin bodies and set fire to them. The gruesomeness of it made her feel slightly sick, especially when she saw how many goblins there had been. Galadriel also watched, her beautiful face impassive, causing Elanor to wonder how many times the Lady had seen such sights. Did one grow used to it over time? And Haldir, was he so used to killing? He must be. He had certainly done so without hesitation or any sign of emotion except, perhaps, revulsion. And he _had_ saved her life even if he had been churlish to her afterward.

Elanor bit her lip as he returned to her side, wondering if he would say anything to her. However, he only glanced at her briefly and without expression as he grasped the reins of her horse and began to lead it along the trail. How much farther would they travel before they made camp for the night? She looked over her shoulder to see that Orophin and all the others were falling into line behind them. Obviously her presence was no longer required near the Lady.

She turned back to study Haldir's broad shoulders, the back of his proud head, the silvery braid of his hair. Would he be cold without his cloak? And why should she care if he was? He deserved to be cold after the way he had spoken to her. Her heart felt so heavy that she wanted to cry.

A year. It would be an eternity.

tbc


	5. Chapter Five

**Chapter Five**

They made camp an hour later. Elanor helped to gather firewood, contributing as best she could to the effort to construct a comfortable place in which to pass the night. Afterward, she huddled uneasily near the campfire, hugging Haldir's cloak around her while she nibbled on a small piece of lembas.

Haldir stood a short distance away, conferring with several other elves, and as he spoke, she could see his breath on the air. He was the only one in the group not wearing a cloak, and he looked cold, yet she had heard him say nothing about it or the fact that his garment was on her back. He did not have to, of course; all of them must know it. Worse, they all must pity Haldir for having been burdened with her. Rúmil had called her an inexperienced hanger-on, and that was truly what she was. She had no survival skills, no sense of danger, nothing to contribute.

As the early spring air grew increasingly chillier, she grew more conscious with every passing moment that she still wore his cloak. How could she have been so stupid as to lose hers? She had been so inept and careless and foolish.

She watched Haldir furtively, noting how tall and imposing he looked against the black background of the dark trees, his stance so erect and noble. It brought to her mind how easily he used his bow and how lethal he had been. And she remembered all too well how strong he was, and how those ridged muscles looked when they flexed.

He was dangerous, that much was certain. And in more ways than one.

It appeared that some of them would rest while others stood guard until it was their turn to rest. She was unused to this odd feeling of danger, yet everyone else seemed to feel it. Inwardly, she shivered, wondering how she was ever going to relax when at any moment some hideous creature might attack. Apparently, the goblins were nothing compared to other creatures that existed. She had heard of some of them, but did not wish to see them for herself.

She watched Haldir and two others retreat into the night while others rested, falling easily into reverie. Elanor glanced to the right, and saw that the Lady Galadriel leaned comfortably in Lord Celeborn's embrace. Elanor shifted her position, her body aching and exhausted. How she longed to curl up and sleep, but as the minutes passed she knew she would not be able to, for there was something important she had to do, and she would know no peace until she did it.

Reluctantly, she rose to her feet, glancing around at the others. No one spoke or even seemed to notice her as she left the warmth of the fire and headed into the shadows where she had last seen Haldir.

He found her before she could find him, his hand on her shoulder startling her so that she gave a soft gasp, her heart leaping as visions of goblins and other monsters jolted through her head.

"What are you doing here?" His voice was demanding yet soft, betraying nothing.

She gathered her wits, able to just make out his features in the darkness. "I was looking for you." To her own ears, she sounded a little breathless, not quite herself.

"Oh?" She could see the slight lift to his brows. "For what purpose?" His tone seemed to have acquired a note of dry speculation. Sweet Elbereth, did he think she was here because she wanted him to . . . to . . .

She glared at him. "Not for the reason you are thinking!" she shot back, her voice low and a little indignant.

He moved a little closer, his hand still on her shoulder, and it reminded her of that moment in the garden. "What am I thinking, Elanor?"

"You are thinking . . . you are thinking that I want . . . " She stopped abruptly. "I will not be made mock of, Haldir. You know perfectly well what you were thinking."

He did not answer at once, but he removed his hand from her shoulder. "Elanor," he said finally, sounding a little strained, "go back to the campfire."

"I intend to," she gritted, "but I came to give you your cloak. You look cold." She reached up to unfasten it, but he stopped her, his strong fingers closing over hers.

"I do not need it. My tunics are far heavier than your thin dress. And you have nothing on beneath it. Now go." He gave her a small push.

"Haldir," she insisted, "You _are_ cold. I really think you ought to let me . . . what did you say?" She gazed at him, wishing she could see his expression better, though it would likely be as impossible to read as usual. How did he know she wore only one layer?

"I said to go. Now."

She stared at him, bewildered by his tone. "You are angry with me?"

He gave a small, wry laugh. "Angry, no. Nor am I cold, at least not yet. But later, when it is my turn to rest, I plan to come and share the cloak with you."

Share? Elanor knew her breathing had grown shallow, and hoped he did not notice. This was not at all what she had had in mind, but how could she refuse?

"Certainly," she said stiffly. "It is yours, after all." She took a small step backward. "I apologize for losing my own. It was stupid of me." There, she had admitted it. Now what would he say in return?

"It was not stupid, Elanor. It was an accident. You owe me no apology."

Oddly reassured and a little surprised, she gave another small nod, and hurried back to the campfire, her thoughts in a whirl as she curled up and settled her head upon the soft corner of her bag of personal belongings. Gradually, she began to relax, yet the ground was hard and she was not at all comfortable. Moreover, she could not seem to put Haldir out of her mind, for all she could think about was the fact that he would soon be sharing the cloak. Images of him spun through her head, most of them enough to make her blush. How could she think such thoughts when she disliked him so much? Perhaps it was as he had said. It was only nature and meant nothing. But the only other thing to think about was the aches she had acquired from riding. How she wished she had healing skills like Haldir did!

It seemed like half the night had slipped away before he joined her, quietly easing the cloak from around her and draping it over the both of them. Elanor lay on her side and tried to ignore him, her eyes wide open as he settled himself behind her so that their bodies almost touched. Almost, but not quite.

She wriggled slightly, wishing desperately that she could simply drift into a sleep reverie like the other elves had done. How she wished for the softness of a mattress beneath her! She wriggled again, her body throbbing from the ache of her sore muscles, throbbing also in a different way from the knowledge of Haldir's nearness. The combination was almost more than she could bear.

"Elanor," Haldir murmured, "lean back against me. I think that may help with your discomfort."

"I am fine," she whispered.

"Elanor," he said, still very softly, "do as I say. I am tired and wish to rest. I cannot do so with you bouncing around next to me."

"I am not bouncing!" she hissed.

Abruptly, his arm came around her waist, and she found herself snuggled up against him, much in the same way Galadriel lay cradled against Celeborn only a short distance away. She had only a few seconds to note that Haldir's loins were firmly pressed against her backside, a few seconds for her heart rate to accelerate in response to that contact. And then she heard Haldir whisper certain words in her ear, and knew that he had cast a sleeping spell over her . . .

It was her last thought for quite some time.

When she awoke, it was not yet light, but the first and earliest morning birdsong greeted her ears and the crisp, cold air carried the scent of spring. To her slight surprise, Haldir still slept, his warm body pressed close to hers, his soft breath fluttering a few strands of hair at the side of her face. It seemed odd to think that he required rest, for his powerful personality seemed an unending source of strength and stamina. Still, like anyone else, he was certainly entitled to a respite.

However, he was _not_ entitled to have his arm slung around her waist the way that it was, nor was he at _all_ entitled to have his hand cupping the underside of her breast. His thumb was actually on her . . . Elanor sat up abruptly, elbowing Haldir hard in the ribs.

Twisting around to glower at him, she saw that his eyes were open and alert. "What is it? Is there a problem, Elanor?" He spoke calmly, suggesting that he was unconcerned by her sudden movement. In fact, his perplexed look gave her the distinct feeling he did not realize where his hand had been. If so, she was certainly not about to tell him.

"No," she said, trying not to glare. "But it is morning."

"Not quite." He slanted a look at her. "You may rest a while longer."

"I think not," she almost snapped.

She saw him frown, then his gaze flicked down to her chest. "You are cold," he stated. "Come back under the cloak."

Elanor felt the flush rise in her cheeks, for she knew that her nipples had gone pebble hard. Her jaw tight, she yanked the cloak completely off of Haldir, shoving at him as she scrambled to her feet and wrapped it around herself. "There, I am under the cloak. Are you satisfied?" Too late, she heard the belligerence in her tone. She had not meant to speak so, but she was very flustered.

He rose to his feet so swiftly it amazed her, his hand sweeping out to grip her chin. For a long moment his steely gaze roamed her face, then he spoke, his quiet tone belying the firmness of his message. "Do not forget that you are my ward, Elanor. You owe me your respect and your obedience. You are not dealing with your fellow pranksters back in Rivendell."

She stared back at him. "I obeyed you, Haldir. I am under the cloak."

"I will not bandy words with you, Elanor. This is a small matter, but in the future I expect you to heed what I say."

He buckled on his sword belt, then slung his bow and quiver over his shoulder and walked away, leaving her standing alone in the cold light of early dawn, surrounded by elves who were all beginning to awaken and stare at her curiously.

After several days of traveling, the elves finally neared the sanctuary of the Golden Wood. To the others, the tall trees of Lothlórien were a welcome sight, but for Elanor, the thought of what lay ahead made her view them with anxiety.

Under other circumstances, to live in a new city in a new land among unknown elves might have seemed an exciting adventure, but knowing she would be doing so as Haldir's ward dampened her spirits and set her teeth on edge. She was still mortified by all that had occurred, and dreaded the possibility that the Lórien city elves would view her as an object of pity. At the same time, she was eager for the journey to end, for her body ached from hours of riding as well as from trying to sleep upon the hard ground.

And although the changing terrain had enthralled her, she had not realized how silently they would pass over the land to avoid attracting unwanted attention. Only she, Galadriel, and Celeborn rode, the rest were on foot, with the last horse used to carry supplies and baggage. All in all, the journey had not been the thrilling adventure she might have imagined, especially since Haldir insisted on leading her horse after that first day, completely curtailing her freedom.

Was he afraid she would try to escape? He could not possibly believe she would do such a thing, yet if he did, she was insulted. The only other explanation was that he thought he needed to keep an eye on her, and that implied that he thought she would do something foolish, something that could place them in danger. That, too, was an insult. But she had not asked him his reasons, and he had not deigned to enlighten her. In fact, for the most part he ignored her. Not that she cared.

At least the weather had warmed, which meant that he did not attempt to sleep next to her or share the cloak as they had on that first night. On the other hand, when he did rest, he stayed within an arm's length of her. Perhaps he saw her as an extension of his belongings, something that required looking after. It was a lowering thought.

Even so, he hardly spoke to her at all, being far more focused on inspecting the underbrush and thickets around them than on her. And rightfully so, she admitted fairly. It was his duty to keep them safe, and she admired that he took his responsibilities seriously. Since she had always done that herself, it was something she could respect, even if she did think him arrogant, overbearing and heartless.

When they finally rode into the Lórien woods, all Elanor could think about was getting off her horse as soon as possible. Was the city near? She gazed up at the great canopy of trees while reaching around to rub her hand against her aching lower back.

Their pace had slowed, and she looked at Haldir, wondering how much farther they would have to travel. After days of sitting astride a horse that seemed bent on jolting her as much as possible, the insides of her legs and her backside hurt more than she would ever have thought possible. She longed to ask him to stop so she could dismount, but she would rather fall off her horse in a dead heap than ask for anything from him.

As if feeling her gaze on his back, Haldir turned to look at her, his astute gaze on her face. "It is not far now, Elanor. Only another day's ride." It was the first time he had spoken to her in hours.

A full day's ride? He called that not far?

Elanor could not repress a grimace, and was annoyed to see the slight twitch at the corners of his mouth. So he found her amusing, did he?

"I suggest you walk for awhile," he said. "It is safe now, and you can work out the stiffness and give your backside some relief."

His voice seemed gentler than usual, but did it not also hold a trace of laughter? Without a doubt he was testing her, goading her to admit to weakness, and she would not do it, not if it killed her. Each day he had asked her if she needed his assistance in any way, and each day she had told him no. She would cling to her pride, for it was all she had left.

She raised her chin in defiance. "I am perfectly fine, thank you." If Galadriel could ride hour after hour without complaint, then so could she. She would show him that he could not break her.

Haldir just looked at her, the warmth in his eyes fading. "If you insist, Elanor." His gaze rested on her for a moment longer before he turned away, drawing the horse forward once more.

She bit her lip, already regretting her answer. In fact, she would rather die than admit to him that he was right, so for now she would just endure. Perhaps he would ask again. If he did, she would swallow her pride and accept.

Moments later they were greeted by several male Sylvan elves, who startled Elanor by dropping from the trees silently and without warning. They bowed their heads to the Lady and Lord Celeborn, exchanged quiet words with Haldir, and then returned to the trees, easily ascending the rope ladders that were nearly invisible until one knew that they were there.

She stared after them in bemusement, automatically comparing them with Haldir and the other Lórien elves she had met. They were all beautiful to look upon, but she could not help thinking that the March Warden possessed something the rest of them did not. What was it about Haldir that put this thought in her head? Was it only his arrogance and authoritative air that set him apart? Or was it more than that?

Another hour passed. Elanor gazed around in mute appreciation of the golden beauty that was Lothlórien. If she did not hurt so much, she could appreciate it even more. Did one's body ever grow accustomed to so much time in the saddle? She supposed so, but hers had not.

Perhaps she should say something to Haldir. He was not omniscient; he could not know how truly sore she was. The inside of her knees felt like rocks banged against them, her inner thighs were chaffed, and as for her backside, it had gone beyond pain into agony. To add to this, she was exhausted, for she had not slept well on any of the nights since she had left Rivendell, except perhaps for those few hours when he had made sure she did.

"Haldir?" she said, as casually as possible. Did her voice sound higher than usual? Even a little squeaky?

"Yes, Elanor?" To her frustration, he did not halt or turn around, but simply went on walking, which meant her horse kept on walking also.

"Did you wish me to walk beside you?" she asked, telling herself it was a clever question. If he admitted it, then she could magnanimously agree.

"You are free to ride if that is your preference," came his indifferent reply.

Exasperating elf! How she longed to strangle him!

"Well, I thought perhaps you wished to speak with me, perhaps tell me a something about Caras Galadhon. You seemed so proud of it."

"I am indeed proud of it," he agreed, very smoothly. "But since you prefer to ride and I must lead your horse, we can speak of it later."

She glared at his back and nearly made a face. He was the most provoking, annoying, infuriating elf she had ever had the misfortune to meet! She took several deep breaths, and tried again. "Well, you will doubtless be occupied later. There is little else to do at the moment except talk. After all, you need not be on your guard any longer now that we are within the borders of your land."

"I will not be occupied later. I plan to spend a good deal of time with you before I leave you on your own."

Why did everything he say rile her so much? Probably because she imagined that he was secretly laughing at her behind that cold mask he wore. She had not seen him smile a real smile since the day by the stream. Elanor ground her teeth and said nothing more.

The day wore on. At midday they stopped for a rest, and Elanor slid from her horse before Haldir could approach. Her legs felt like they belonged to someone else. She took a step, trying to keep her inner thighs from brushing together, and nearly fell.

Of course Haldir managed to glance her way in time to see. He walked over and took her by the arm. "There are consequences to your choices, Elanor. You are feeling them now."

"You seem to enjoy my suffering," she said waspishly, dropping the pretense that nothing was amiss.

He frowned. "Again, you misjudge me. I do not like to see you like this."

"Galadriel fares well enough," Elanor retorted.

"That is so," he agreed. "She is accustomed to travel, and she is strong." He paused, studying her intently. "Do you wish me to relieve you of some of your pain?"

Hope flared within her. "You would take away my pain?" she asked, trying to conceal her eagerness. Why had he not offered this before? Had he been waiting for her to ask?

"I will take away _some_ of your pain," he corrected, "though you have earned it with your stubbornness. I will heal the inside of your knees, if you like. The rest you will have to endure for now. It is the price you must pay for your lack of honesty and foolish pride."

Elanor could not believe her ears! Here she was, trying to be brave and uncomplaining, and he called her dishonest! How dared he! The arrogant, heartless, insufferable elf!

"Go to Mordor!" she fired back. She turned to walk away, took a single step, caught her foot on a tree root, and fell. Why the ground did not simply open up and swallow her, she did not know. She had never felt so humiliated in her life, with the exception of the night Haldir had tied her to her own bed. For the first time since she had left home, her tears threatened to erupt, and she squeezed shut her eyes to stop the flow.

He picked her up by her forearms, holding her upright while he shook his head and sighed. "Elanor, Elanor, this is going to be a long year, is it not? You have much to learn, youngling." Then he did something extraordinary. He touched a finger to the corner of her eye and gently brushed away the drop of moisture that had collected there.

Scooping her up into his arms, he carried her out of sight of the others and set her down beside the trunk of one of the massive golden trees. At this point, she could only watch him numbly while he shoved up her skirt and examined the damage to her legs. With a sigh, he placed his palms on the insides of her knees, and within a few moments the heat came, and soon the bruises were gone. Then he lowered her skirt and rose to his feet, looking down at her impassively as if waiting for her to say something.

She gazed up at him, her emotions torn. Did he not realize how difficult this was for her? Her knees felt better, but she still hurt in other places, and he was refusing to help her. Not that she wanted his hands up her skirt, but really! What did he expect her to do? Beg?

"Come," he said, and held out his hand. "You will walk the rest of the day. I make this decision for you, so you do not have to make it yourself."

She ignored his outstretched hand as she struggled to stand up. "I can make the decision," she protested.

"You had that chance. Now I take it away from you. You will walk beside me and I will hear no argument." He looked at her, his steady gaze telling her he meant what he said. "This is a direct order, Elanor."

Elanor sighed and nodded curtly, knowing she could do nothing but yield. Perhaps eventually she would get the chance to pay him back. She did not discover until much later that she was the first maiden ever to walk by his side while he traveled through the Golden Wood.

The sun was setting when they reached a high ridge in the wood. The trees had grown larger as they traveled, the undergrowth more sparse. Haldir paused for a moment, waiting for Elanor to catch up, although she had done very well all things considered. He stood still, watching her trudge up the hill in his wake, trying not to let her see how much he enjoyed looking at her.

He reached out a hand and pulled her up next to him, pausing at the top of the ridge so she could get the best view of his city. Ahead of them, Galadriel and Celeborn were already making their way down the slope, their horses picking their way carefully. At this point in the journey, there was no reason for Haldir to lead, and it was right that the Lord and Lady should be first to arrive in their city. Rúmil had taken charge of Elanor's palfrey, and had also gone on ahead, just behind the Lord and Lady.

Haldir watched Elanor's face as she gazed at Caras Galadhon for the first time. "Your new home," he said. "Another hour and we will be there." His heart rejoiced to be here, and he secretly hoped that she would find his city as wonderful as he did. But if she had such thoughts, she gave no sign. Of course, that would change once she was in it.

"Indeed." She turned her blue eyes upon him for an instant and then looked away. "Only an hour?" she asked, her tone telling him that she was still trying to annoy him. Or perhaps annoy was the wrong word. She was trying to provoke him into losing his temper. She resented being subject to his will, but subject to it she was and would remain.

Ignoring her remark, he caught hold of her elbow and urged her forward and down the trail, following in the wake of all the other elves making their way toward the city in the trees.

Once inside the gates, Haldir stopped, nodding to the wardens who had lingered, waiting for him to arrive. With his signal, all except Rúmil and Orophin quickly dispersed, heading off to their respective destinations while Haldir turned to Elanor, noting the hard set of her jaw as she looked around. Was it disapproval of her surroundings or was it an attempt to hide her discomfort from his eyes? Most likely the latter, he suspected, and wished he could read her mind. Perhaps Galadriel might have some insight into how he should deal with this lovely and stubborn elleth. Whether the Lady would tell him anything or not was another matter, but it would not hurt to ask.

"I must speak with the Lady before we retire for the evening," he stated.

Elanor's head jerked in his direction. "Before _we_ retire? What do you mean 'we'?"

"You will stay with me in my talan until I decide otherwise."

"I cannot stay with you!" she said with outrage. "I refuse."

Haldir looked her up and down, allowing himself the brief indulgence of enjoying this battle of wills she seemed determined to play with him. "Then where will you stay, Elanor? We have just arrived. You are my ward and must be near me. Right now I wish you to take my belongings to my talan." Ignoring her heaving breasts and flushed cheeks, he gestured toward the small saddle bag that held the few belongings he carried with him on his travels.

She stared at him as though he were mad. "What?"

"Do you have trouble hearing?" he inquired patiently.

"I have my own belongings to carry," she retorted, bristling at him. "You cannot make me carry yours."

He moved close to her, speaking so only she could hear. "Of course I can make you, but I do not think you wish to experience my methods. Suffice it to say that disobedience will have its consequences. Unless you have some reasonable objection, in which case I will listen. Do you have a reasonable objection, Elanor? If so, tell me now."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Give me your quiver, Haldir. I will carry _that_ for you if you wish."

Now what was in her mind? Did she think that carrying his travel bag was too menial a task? Her tone challenged him, suggesting that she thought he would refuse to let her touch his weapons. In truth, to carry his weapons was an honor he accorded to few, and never to someone who was not a warrior like himself. Had she guessed this? And did she have any idea how heavy they were?

"Very well, Elanor," he said, after a moment's consideration. He unbuckled his quiver and laid it across her arms, then removed his sword and scabbard. "You may take these as well," he added, and laid them gently next to the quiver in her arms. Turning, he retrieved his bow from where he had leaned it against a tree. He gave this to her also, setting it on top of the other weapons, and waited to hear what she would say.

"I do not know where your talan is." Elanor struggled to support the weighty objects in her arms, her face a little white.

Haldir waved his hand toward the trees above his head, and proceeded to give her a set of complicated instructions. There were many mellyrn trees, many staircases, and many little bridges. For a newcomer, it would be very confusing.

Elanor's pretty mouth gaped open. "You expect me to remember all that?" She dropped the bow on the ground, juggling the sword and scabbard and quiver. Haldir reached out to steady the sword, then retrieved the bow from the ground and gave it back to her.

"Is it a problem?" he inquired. "Will you need assistance?"

"No," she said tersely. Her chin rose rebelliously when he folded his arms over his chest and lifted a brow. "I will find it one way or another." Turning away, she staggered toward the nearest set of steps, displaying much less than her usual grace.

Orophin and Rúmil stepped forward, both of them looking puzzled. "What in Arda was that all about?" Orophin asked. "Rúmil or I could have taken your weapons."

Haldir glanced at them. He did not like to explain himself, but he saw their genuine concern, and for his brothers he would make an exception. "Elanor possesses a strong spirit, but it is misdirected. She has not learned to communicate her needs without becoming antagonistic. She either suppresses her desires or lashes out in a reckless manner. She is too proud and stubborn for her own good."

"Proud and stubborn," Orophin repeated thoughtfully. "That reminds me of someone else I know, but at the moment I cannot recall who is it."

Haldir fixed him with a stern look. "She must learn to admit when she requires help or cannot do something. Otherwise, she will only land herself into more trouble, or even danger."

"But she is exhausted." Rúmil frowned. "Must you test her so quickly?"

"It is I, not you, who has been saddled with a ward," Haldir answered. "Therefore, it is I who will decide when and how to teach her that which she must learn. Lord Elrond expects this of me, and a year is a very short time. Which reminds me, I believe you two are on watch, but you may wait until morning to depart."

Orophin groaned. "I hoped you had forgotten." He gave a rueful smile and shouldered his bow.

Haldir turned to look after Elanor; he could still see her struggling up the spiraling steps. "One of you follow her. She will be sure to get lost, for I know she only took in half of what I said. I must speak with Galadriel."

"I will go," Rúmil said quickly.

Haldir and Orophin watched him sprint toward the staircase and Elanor. "I think he likes her," Orophin remarked, his tone very casual.

"He may like her all he wishes." Haldir bent down to pick up his travel bag. "From a distance," he added.

Orophin smirked and arched a brow. "Oh? And why is that, brother?"

Haldir gave him a cool look. "Because I said so."

tbc


	6. Chapter Six

**Chapter 6**

Elanor mounted the stairs, clutching Haldir's weapons to her chest while berating herself for not simply doing as he'd asked in the first place. Carrying his leather saddle bag would have been easy compared to this! Though he had not exactly _asked_, had he? As March Warden, he must be accustomed to issuing orders, so she supposed it was not surprising that he would speak this way to her.

She sighed inwardly, annoyed with herself as much as with him. So many steps there were, and still more ahead! The idea of living in the trees actually fascinated her, but all this climbing was exacerbating her aches and pains. Would Haldir have realized this? To be fair, with all his muscles he likely had no idea how it would feel to her. Likely the climb did not bother him in the least.

With a soft groan, she paused and sank down upon a step, leaning her forehead against the warm leather of the sword's scabbard. She was so tired, and already she had forgotten what he said. To the top, but which top? And was it left or right? He had mentioned bridges, but which ones?

After a few moments, Elanor lifted her head, wondering if anyone would pass by while she sat here. If they did, would they be able to tell whose weapons she carried? It suddenly struck her that to carry the March Warden's weapons was most likely a great privilege. Pondering this, she felt an unexpected spurt of pride that he had entrusted them to her. He could easily have refused.

She looked down at the scabbard, wondering curiously if the sword it contained would be marked any differently from the other elves' swords. Then her gaze moved to his bow, which was almost as tall as she was. It was beautifully carved, but until this moment it had merely annoyed her, for it had been banging her hip with each step she had taken, and she had almost dropped it twice.

Studying it, she shifted, easing her weight from one side of her body to the other. As she did so, the bow wobbled and started to tip over. Her hand reached out, and instead of catching it, she actually bumped it, propelling it forward so that it began to flip over the edge of the stairs. With a horrified gasp, she threw herself forward onto her stomach, catching the edge of the bow only an instant before it fell goodness knew how far to the forest floor below. Oh, sweet Elbereth, that had been close!

Her heart thumping hard, she wondered what Haldir would have done to her if he had seen. And here she was, sprawled ingloriously on top of his scabbard and quiver and looking like a complete idiot, her dress hitched up and tangled around her knees! Furious with herself, she yanked the bow back up and glanced around to discover if anyone had seen. Some distance away, she saw an elven couple staring at her, and in another direction, she could see several males gazing her way. In fact, they actually seemed to be smiling! Would this tale get back to Haldir's ears?

Flushing with embarrassment, Elanor sat up and brushed back the hair from her face. It was then that she noticed Rúmil standing two steps below, watching her with something between amusement and concern.

"Would you like some assistance?" he asked, but Elanor saw the smile he was trying to hide.

She opened her mouth to decline, then thought better of it. "You will get into trouble with Haldir if you help me," she said instead, her voice rueful. She stood up and slid the bow over her shoulder, then bent to pick up the quiver and scabbard. The quiver she managed, but her arms cried out in complaint as she tried to lift the heavy sword in its scabbard. Somehow it slipped from her grip and clanked loudly back onto the step.

Rúmil grimaced and stepped forward quickly, rescuing it before she could try again. "Let me take that, Elanor. Haldir would be more annoyed if you keep dropping his weapons. He need not know that I took charge of it." He touched Elanor lightly on the arm, his blue eyes on her face.

Elanor blushed. "I am not usually this clumsy. I am just a little tired, that is all."

"I understand," Rúmil said cheerfully. "Worry not, you did no damage to it."

Elanor sighed, secretly relieved to be rid of the heavy weapon. She allowed him to carry the bow too, but retained her hold on the quiver. Her own bag of belongings still hung on her back like a knapsack. "And since you are here, would you also help me find Haldir's talan? I have no idea where to go."

Rúmil bowed and gave her one of his cheeky grins as he began to climb the stairs. "It is not far from here. I am sure you will be glad for the chance to change your dress and put on an undergarment," he teased.

"So you did look at me!" she said hotly.

He laughed, his blue eyes twinkling in a way she was starting to recognize. "Only a quick peek, nothing more. Enough to notice that chemise you took off had a little damage down the front. I told Haldir he might do well to replace it."

Elanor made a face, remembering the hasty and rather poor sewing job she had done on that wretched garment. "Indeed he should, considering that he—" She broke off as she realized what she had nearly said.

Rúmil glanced at her. "Considering that he . . . what?"

Elanor pressed her lips together and did not reply. She should have thrown out the ripped undergarment, but she had just disposed of several, and had not had a chance to replace them before all this had happened.

"Elanor, did Haldir do that?"

"Rúmil, I would prefer not to speak of it. I find it most embarrassing."

Rúmil gently gripped her elbow. "I know this may not be easy to believe, but Haldir is one of the finest elves you will ever meet. He even has a sense of humor, although it is his own special brand and can be rather dry at times." He let out a small laugh. "In fact, it can take a piece of your hide." He squeezed her elbow a bit more. "Hearken to me, Elanor. This advice I give comes from someone who cares. Your year with my brother will go more smoothly if you do not challenge him on every matter."

Elanor held her silence, thinking this over as she forced her legs to keep mounting the stairs. Moments later they came to a delicate little bridge, which they crossed, and then they descended a few steps to another bridge. More steps upward, and at last they arrived at their destination. Rúmil pushed opened the door and went inside. Elanor followed.

"Haldir's home. Yours too, at least for now." Rúmil set Haldir's sword and bow in the corner and turned to her. "I doubt he will be long."

Elanor glanced around. Goosebumps ran along her flesh as she realized that she truly stood inside Haldir's private living area. And then the largest question surged through her mind, the one she had been trying to suppress. Where would he expect her to sleep? Would he have an extra bed? It seemed unlikely, for these talans were not as spacious as the homes in Rivendell. And the possibility that he would give her his bed seemed remote.

She looked back at Rúmil, wondering if she should appeal to him for advice, but he only winked at her and slipped away, shutting the door quietly behind him as he went.

Having gained his audience with Galadriel, Haldir signaled his respect with his hand on his heart and a bowed head. They stood on the open air flet where Galadriel often met with her people. To the rear, a set of white steps led upward to the enclosed living area she shared with Celeborn. Behind him stood the Lady's sentinels, silent and discreet and ever present, their bows held against their sides.

"My lady, I apologize for disturbing you when you have just arrived, but I would have a word with you about Elanor, if I may."

"Ah, yes, Elanor." To his surprise, a glint of amusement shone in the lady's sapphire eyes. "She is charming, Haldir. So full of life and spirit."

"Er, yes," he conceded, willing to grant her that. "But she is also obstinate, willful and over-proud. And she reacts emotionally with no thought for consequences. And," he paused for a moment, "she seems to see me as an adversary."

"Yes, I noticed that," Galadriel admitted gravely.

"I was wondering if you had any words of advice," he said, his tone deferential. "I am unused to dealing with young maidens."

Galadriel smiled slightly. "I would rather say you are unused to dealing with young maidens who interest you in the way that Elanor does."

Haldir barely prevented himself from flushing. "She is my ward, my lady."

"Indeed," she agreed, still with that faint gleam of amusement. "The ways of the Valar are often obscure." He had long admired the Lady's playful temperament, but just at this moment she disconcerted him.

"Have you any insights to share with me?" he inquired. He maintained his neutral expression, hoping she was not looking into his mind. He was never completely sure when she was doing it.

Looking reflective, Galadriel walked over and seated herself gracefully in a cushioned chair. "I will tell you one thing you do not know."

Haldir waited, regarding her steadily while all around them the golden leaves whispered and rustled, a familiar and beloved sound to all who resided in Lórien.

"When the goblins attacked," the Lady said, "Elanor was prepared to shield me from danger with her own body. Of course, it did not come to that, but I read her intentions when she looked at me."

Of all the things he had imagined Galadriel saying, this was not one of them. "That is most commendable," he said after a few stunned moments. He had to admit he felt astonishment and, if he were honest, some pride in Elanor.

"Her courage runs deep, Haldir. Certainly she has much to learn, for her family was structured around the needs of her younger sister. Elrond chose well when he selected you as her mentor."

"Thank you, my lady. I will endeavor to do my duty by her. However, I am unsure how to get past this stubbornness of hers. Why does she view me with such antagonism?"

"I think you know the answer to that."

Fraught with hidden meaning, it was one of Galadriel's characteristic answers, and though he would have liked to probe further, he knew better than to do so. Still, he could not resist a comment.

"She seems unappreciative of my efforts to aid her. She makes everything more difficult than it needs to be." He knew his frustration came through in his voice though he strove to hide it. To no one except Galadriel would he have revealed this weakness.

The Lady favored him with one of her beautiful smiles. "She appreciates you, Haldir. She simply has not discovered it yet. And she did apologize for losing her cloak, did she not?"

"Yes," he acknowledged.

"That was not easy for her. She is feeling very lost right now. She is like a small boat cast adrift on the Anduin. You must be her anchor." Galadriel paused. "I would like her to tend my garden while she is here. All elves feel a union with nature, but Elanor's connection is stronger than most. I sense that she has unique skills in that area."

Haldir recalled the roses he had observed blooming outside Elanor's front door back in Rivendell. They had indeed seemed larger and finer than many others he had seen. "Very well, my lady. I will inform her of that duty."

"Ask her, Haldir. Tell her that I am requesting this of her, and that she is free to decline. I do not think she will, but give her the choice. She is your ward, not mine. I will give her no commands, although of course you are free to do so, if you choose."

"I understand, my lady." Hearing the finality in Galadriel's voice, Haldir bowed, his hand on his heart, and turned to go.

"One more thing," Galadriel said, one of her luminous smiles playing on her lips. "She was very worried about your safety the night the goblins attacked."

Haldir felt something warm twitch in his chest and hoped it did not show on his face. He bowed his head and began to walk away.

"Oh, and Haldir?" the Lady's musical voice followed him.

Once again he swiveled back. "Yes, my lady?"

Galadriel smiled. "It is good to know you are not made of stone, after all."

Haldir's talan was built into the arc of the tree, its design following the flowing curvature of the branches much like the bridges and winding stairways had done. For a few moments Elanor forgot her fatigue as she surveyed the front room, surprised that such sophistication could exist so far above the forest floor. Why had she expected it to be primitive?

The room contained a handsome wooden table with carven legs and a set of chairs, several beautifully woven rugs and wall tapestries, and a pair of comfortable-looking cushioned chairs with high backs carved like the tendrils of vines. A small, elegant cabinet of burnished wood was set against the wall, a gilt mirror looming above it. Atop the cabinet were several potted plants that appeared to have gone untended during Haldir's absence.

Along the back wall were three arched doorways. Starting from the right, the first led to a kitchen, while the central one, a sliding door of open lattice carvings, led to a lovely central terrace shielded from above by a veil of green leafy vines and golden leaves. Elanor gazed at it, admiring the skill put into its design; from this vantage she could see that all three rooms held lattice-patterned doors leading to this terrace, including that last room she had not yet investigated. Slowly, she moved to the third door and eased it open, peeking in rather cautiously.

It was Haldir's sleeping chamber.

Her heart beating fast, she took a single step inside. The room was hung with dark silks, and soft silver and blue curtains, with an ornate lantern of blue glass hanging from the ceiling. On the far side of the room, as an extension into the terrace, she could see a bathing area gleaming with translucent tiles, the golden leaves of the tree veiling it from the outside. And, just as she had feared, there was only one bed. A large one. She stared at it in consternation.

Spinning around, she returned to the room with the table and chairs. One bed. What was he thinking? Her stomach churning with tension, she suddenly realized that all this time she had been clutching Haldir's quiver to her bosom as though it were some rare and precious object. Annoyed with herself, she tossed it onto the table, then grimaced as the leather sheath bounced and tumbled over the edge, spilling the majority of its arrows onto the floor.

With a moan, she clenched her hands into fists, wishing there was something she could hit in order to relieve her frustration and feeling of helplessness. Never had she been as clumsy and graceless as she had these past few days! What was wrong with her?

Depressed, she removed her bag of belongings from her back, took off Haldir's cloak, and plopped down in one of the chairs, leaning her elbows on the table. She pressed her hands to her face and thought of Lana, wondering what her sister was doing at this moment. It was the first time she had thought of Lana in days, which seemed odd considering that until recently her whole world had revolved around her sister. To be free of Lana came as more of a relief than Elanor would have expected. Ah well, Lana would be just fine with Nana and Ada. Not happy, perhaps, but safe and well. And by the next time they met, perhaps Lana would be ready to apologize for her lies and deceptions.

Meanwhile, Elanor had her own situation to consider. What was she going to do about Haldir? She knew she had been behaving badly, challenging him the way she had been doing. It was not at all the way she usually conducted herself. In fact, until she met Haldir, she could not remember a time when she had not been gracious, courteous and accommodating. Perhaps too accommodating, at times, but was that wrong?

She rubbed her eyes and shook her head wearily, knowing that she had to get a grip on herself. What was she going to say to Haldir? One bed!

Abruptly, she remembered the arrows on the floor. Leaping from the chair, she knelt to retrieve them, shoving them back into the quiver as quickly as she could before Haldir showed up and saw what she had done. She had just crawled halfway under the table to retrieve the last arrow when the door opened. Elanor looked around guiltily.

"Not another mishap," remarked a resigned voice. Haldir dropped his bag on the floor and closed the door, leaning against it with his arms folded over his chest, a stance that made him look both disapproving and intimidating. And here she was on her hands and knees with her backside in the air! Could she possibly do anything to humiliate herself any more?

Glaring at the elf who was fast becoming the bane of her existence, Elanor sat back on her heels, banging her head against the edge of the table in the process. Stifling a curse, she rubbed her head, then without thinking, rapidly jammed the last two arrows into the quiver. Then she caught the look on Haldir's face, and froze.

Now what had she done?

As she started to rise, he strode over and pulled her to her feet, then released his grip on her arm. Retrieving the quiver, he silently removed the arrows and spread them out on the table, picking up one after another of them to examine with a critical eye. Elanor's heart sank. Even she could see that the feathers on the ends of quite a few of them were bent or flattened.

He held one in front of her, speaking firmly but calmly. "Lesson number one. Arrows are important, and they don't fly well when you destroy the fletching. Do you realize what that means in a battle? Look closely. Do you see what happened? It appears that you will be learning to repair arrows tomorrow."

Elanor swallowed hard, appalled by what she had done. How could she have been so careless? She knew better, but in her irritation and fatigue she had thought only of tidying them up as quickly as possible. Thank the Valar he did not know what had so nearly happened to his bow!

She looked up, bravely meeting Haldir's penetrating gaze. "I am sorry," she said, trying to keep her voice from betraying how truly distraught she was.

His small nod seemed approving. "I know you are. I will show you how to repair them tomorrow. It will give you something to do." He moved away to light a small lantern while Elanor stood waiting for him to say something more. One bed. Did he think she had not noticed?

"I see that Rúmil carried my sword and bow," he remarked.

"How did you know?" She stared at him in amazement.

He gave her an amused look. "Because they sit in their place in the corner. They are not tossed in the middle of the floor like my arrows."

"Oh," she said weakly. "Well, yes, he did carry them. They were heavy."

He shot her another glance, but made no comment. She followed him with her eyes as he collected the arrows and set them and the quiver carefully along the far wall. Then he retrieved his saddlebag and strode into the room with the bed in it. A minute later he returned, carrying a pile of tunics and other items of apparel.

"Something else for you to do," he told her in a bland voice. "My clothes need washing, and I expect you have some of your own to do." He dumped them in a pile by the front door while Elanor stared with a flare of resentment.

"I do not think that Lord Elrond intended me to do your laundry," she informed him. She folded her arms across her chest just as he had done and tried to appear imposing.

Haldir looked her over from head to toe. "You will do whatever I ask, Elanor."

"I am your ward, not your slave. And you are not asking."

A glint in his eyes, he stalked toward her in a way that impelled her to take a single, involuntary step backward. He halted in front of her, one corner of his mouth lifting in a manner that brought back the memory of his fury the night he'd been tied to the bed.

"You will be whatever I want you to be," he said softly. "And you will do what I say and with a cheerful attitude. I will not have you glaring and scowling at me every time I desire you to do something for me, or with me. Is that understood?"

Elanor stared up into those piercing eyes, and barely repressed a shiver. In a last gesture of defiance, she tried to step around him, but he reached out and spun her around, grasping her by the upper arms. "I said, is that understood?" He pulled her toward him, and she forgot how to breathe.

He was so close. Too close. Of all moments to choose, why did her mind select this one to notice how very beautiful he was? An extraordinary, erotic awareness of him rippled through her and she could not fight it. Memories of that kiss in the garden flooded her being. In all respects he was magnificent—bold, strong, self-confident. A warrior to the hilt. One who could and would protect the weak and the strong alike. But could he be gentle too? Or tender?

One bed.

After a few, very tense moments, she gave him a short nod, and he released her to go and settle himself in one of the cushioned chairs across the room. He pulled off his boots, then leaned back, stretched out his long legs, and studied her. "You can come and sit down. Are you not tired?"

It was such a ridiculous question that she could not form an answer for fear her voice would shake. She clenched her fists, longing to address the issue foremost on her mind, yet she dreaded his answer and did not dare. Surely he must know she was nigh to dropping dead with exhaustion.

"No?" he said, when she did not reply. "Well, I am. And I seem to have a knot in my shoulder. Perhaps you can rub it a bit? I would appreciate it."

"Rub it?" she repeated, and to her horror, she felt herself blushing, a sudden warmth sweeping through her. Surely he did not mean it? Was this some game he played, some clever ploy or prelude to seduction?

His glance told her he did mean it. Elanor opened her mouth to refuse, then thought better of it. After what she had done to his arrows, perhaps she owed him this, and after all, it _had_ been a request. So weary that she could barely keep herself upright, she moved to stand behind him. "Where is this knot?" she asked, keeping her voice neutral.

Haldir reached up to indicate the location. Carefully, her heart beating fast, she shifted his hair, trying to ignore the alluring silkiness of its texture. Her hands trembled as she pressed them gently against the soft wool of his tunic, making small circles with her fingers and thumbs.

She closed her eyes, trying not to think about the elf she was touching, the strength of the muscles she could feel beneath her fingers, or her memory of the smoothness of his skin beneath his tunic. As she proceeded to knead his muscles the way she instinctively knew would provide the greatest benefit and pleasure, she heard him give a contented sigh that told her that she was doing something right. At last.

Haldir relaxed, enjoying the experience more than he had expected. It was so rare for anyone to do this for him. He hung his head, stretching the cords of his neck, aware of how quiet Elanor had become. What was she thinking? Of how much she disliked and resented him, perhaps? At the moment he did not care; he closed his eyes to the pleasure of the moment created by her expert fingers. She certainly seemed to have a natural aptitude for this. But that brought other thoughts to his mind, thoughts it would be better not to dwell on right now . . .

"Enough," he said abruptly.

"Did I do something wrong?" she asked, a little hurt by the gruffness in his tone. She looked at the back of his head, hoping he would not turn around and see the heightened color in her cheeks. For a moment he did not answer, but only reached up to brush his hair back over his shoulders and undo the braid behind his head. She was surprised he had not asked her to do this too.

"No, it was much to my liking," he said. "Now sit down before you fall down." He rose from the chair and turned to look at her.

It seemed her legs were refusing to move, for she could only gaze at him mutely. She saw him frown. Did he think she was defying him? In truth, she could not care; she was in danger of collapse. Never in her life had she been this weary, her mind floated in a fog of confused thoughts and emotions.

"You would like to bathe?" His voice seemed to come from very far off.

Bathe? In the open room with the translucent tiles? A room visible from the bedroom and the terrace? "I am too tired for that," she said quickly.

Haldir only lifted a brow, then went into his bedroom. Elanor heard the sound of a light being struck and saw the blue glow of the lantern spill out onto the terrace through that second entrance to his room. After a few moments, he returned with a quilt and pillow, his face expressionless as he held them out. "Your bed."

Elanor stared blankly at the items in his hand. "What?"

"I said, here is your bed. I suggest you make use of it."

"And where am I to sleep?" she asked dazedly.

He shrugged. "Anywhere you like. Right here on the rug is fine."

Slowly, her stupor faded to a haze of outrage. "You are suggesting that I sleep on the floor?"

He started to loosen the fastenings of his tunic. "Where else is there? There is only one bed, and it is mine."

Her shock and despair vied for the upper hand. "I cannot sleep on the floor! I have slept on the hard ground for days and days and . . . and now you expect me to sleep on the floor?" She barely prevented her voice from cracking.

"Would you rather sleep with me?" He completed the removal of his grey over-tunic and proceeded to pull off the black, long-sleeved under-tunic as though it were completely normal to strip off his clothes in front of her. The question was casual, indifferent, and completely unconcerned. Elanor's mind reeled.

"I would rather sleep in a bed!" she shot back, too tired to be anything but candid.

He quirked an eyebrow. "There is only one bed. Are you willing to share it?"

Elanor opened her mouth, but shut it again quickly, unsure what to answer. Meanwhile, he was unlacing the tie on his leggings. Dear Elbereth!

"What are you doing?" she said sharply.

He paused, glancing up with a look of surprise. "I do not sleep in my clothes when I am home. Do you?"

"You are going to undress in front of me?" she said in a scandalized tone.

"Why not? You have already seen me naked. And if you sleep with me, this is how it will be."

"I am not going to sleep with you! I'd rather sleep with . . . with an Orc!"

His grey eyes held a disturbing gleam. "No, you wouldn't. They reek. You wouldn't like it at all." And then, to her complete dismay, he lowered his leggings, yanked them off and tossed all three items of apparel onto the pile of dirty laundry by the door.

Elanor shut her eyes, but not before she had gotten a glimpse of his maleness. "I will sleep on the floor," she said through gritted teeth. "Just leave me in peace, that is all I wish."

"That is all you wish, Elanor? Are you certain?" Haldir's voice seemed mocking to her tired ears.

"I wish I had never met you," she added shakily.

"That is a wish I cannot grant. Like it or not, you are saddled with me. As I am with you. We may as well make the best of it."

He put out the lantern and returned to his bedchamber, leaving her alone in the darkened room. Elanor sank down on the first chair she could find, still holding the pillow and quilt. From the corner of her eye, she could see the glow of the blue light spill out onto the terrace. Shortly thereafter, she heard the sound of water against tiles soon followed by the soft rustle of linen sheets as he made himself comfortable. And then silence.

Arrogant, selfish elf! Had he expected her to jump at the chance to sleep with him? The very idea infuriated her. And after she had massaged his neck and shoulders for him too! The least he could have done was to offer to do the same for her! Even as the thought came and went, she knew she was being unreasonable. He must have known she would have declined.

Resigned to another night of discomfort, Elanor found her bag of belongings and rummaged inside it until she found her nightdress. She could see well enough, for a thin shaft of moonlight had found its way into the room, and she had always seen fairly well in the dark. Darting a glance toward Haldir's door, she quietly removed her travel-stained gown and pulled on her thin nightdress. She really should have washed, but she was not about to do so in his bathing room, at least not while he was here!

Forcing herself to move, she tiptoed to the kitchen and found a cask of stored water, poking around until she found a small bowl and a cleaning cloth. She filled the bowl from the spigot and washed herself as best she could, then carried the leftover water back to the front room to pour on the neglected plants. Afterward, she took a moment to whisper to each of them, touching their leaves with gentle hands. By morning, they should be fully recovered.

If only the same could be said for her, she thought with a weary sigh.

Unable to put it off any longer, she stretched out on the rug and pulled the quilt around her, her head cradled by the soft pillow. For a moment it seemed that the rug would offer some amount of padding, but the hard wood beneath it soon became evident. Her aching body still throbbed, and she began to feel very sorry for herself.

In fact, she discovered that her feelings were actually hurt. Without realizing it, she had assumed that Haldir would wish her to be comfortable. She had even thought he might actually have some tiny bit of liking for her. But this was obviously not the case. There was no reason why he should like her. What had she done that was likable? She was nothing to him.

A wave of pure and utter loneliness crashed over her. A single tear slipped down her cheek, and she buried her face in the pillow.

Haldir lay on his bed, knowing that he had made a mistake with Elanor. His approach had been wrong. She had not reacted as he had expected, and he was annoyed with himself for choosing the wrong strategy.

He kept very still, listening to the sounds she made, following her movements as she changed her clothes, then tiptoed out and washed herself in his kitchen. What was she doing now? Pouring water? Whispering to herself? He could not tell, but he knew when she lay down and started wriggling around in an effort to make herself comfortable. Long ago he had done the same when he had first begun to sleep upon the hard ground. It was a dim memory, but it was there, and he remembered.

As the minutes passed, he fought the urge to fall into reverie, and instead maintained a vigilant alertness. He soon heard what he expected, a tiny sound quickly muffled. She was weeping.

He rose to his feet and went to the door, observing her for several seconds with mixed emotions. He could see her huddled form, just a shape outlined by a ray of moonlight, a small boat in need of an anchor.

He entered the room and bent over her. "Elanor, do not cry."

"I am not crying," she sobbed, her face turned away from him.

For some reason, he had the urge to laugh. "I can hear you, Elanor. Come, get up. You can take the bed and I will sleep on the floor. I am used to it." He lowered himself to one knee, and pushed back her hair from her cheek.

Elanor sat up and glared. "I will not take your bed from you! It is not right. I am perfectly fine and comfortable, and I am not crying. I am just a little lonely, that is all."

Ignoring her protests, he scooped her up, tucking her tightly to his chest.

"What do you think you are doing?" she squealed, struggling in his arms as he carried her into the bedchamber. "Haldir, I insist you put me down! Haldir! How dare you!"

Depositing her on his bed, he subdued her much the same way he had that other time, on that other bed, with the force of his strength. Except that this time when he leaned over her, he whispered the sleeping spell into her ear. She was far too tempting to him when awake.

For a moment he just knelt there, gazing down at her still form, then he reached out and smoothed a hand over her long dark hair, something he'd wanted to do for some time. He liked its color, so different from his own. In his eyes, she was lovely, far lovelier than that annoying sister of hers. His eyes roved over her figure, alluringly revealed by the dainty white nightgown.

"Elanor," he murmured, though he knew not why he spoke her name except that he liked the sound of it.

He sighed and rolled her onto her stomach, knowing he had better do this while she slept for she would never allow it otherwise. Shoving up her nightgown, he slid his hands over her nicely rounded backside, intuitively sensing where the soreness was. Within a few moments the warmth emanated from his palms, and in a matter of minutes the healing was complete.

Next, he examined the redness and chaffing on the smooth, creamy flesh of her inner thighs. He could have healed her of this days ago, the stubborn little elleth. Shaking his head, he tended to the matter, ignoring as best he could his body's single-minded response to her delectable nearness. At least she was not awake to see it, although she would no doubt squawk at him in the morning when she realized what he had done.

Now, where was he to take his rest? He briefly considered sleeping on the floor as he had offered, and decided this was foolish. He spent enough of his life on the hard ground as it was. Instead, he shifted Elanor to the far side of the bed, placed her head on a pillow, and covered her with the sheet and quilt. He pulled the curtain partially around to shield her from the light of the moon, then settled himself comfortably where he had been before and linked his fingers behind his head. Falling into reverie should now be a simple matter, but he soon found that it was not.

Elanor was out of pain, but it seemed that his suffering was only just beginning.

tbc


	7. Chapter Seven

**Chapter Seven**

Elanor awoke slowly. What had she been dreaming? Oh yes, she had dreamed she was in Lothlórien of all places, and was Haldir's ward! She groaned silently at the idea and rubbed her cheek against the pillow. And of course she was right here where she should be and always had been, quite comfortable on her own feather mattress. She stretched and smiled, feeling good, feeling completely rested and curiously joyful, as though for once in her life everything was fitting together exactly in the right way. The sheets were soft, the Rivendell air fresh . . . she sniffed the air. Fresh bread? Had Lana started breakfast?

Every muscle in her body went tense.

Lana could not cook. Lana seldom went to the bakery to fetch breakfast for the two of them. In fact, Lana had not done this in years . . .

Elanor's eyes shot open, her heart skipping a beat as the memories poured back into her mind. It had no dream, but real—the journey, the goblins, Lothlórien! And here she was in Haldir's room, in Haldir's bed, wearing nothing but a thin nightdress. She remembered all too clearly how she had struggled in his arms as he had carried her in here and used his weight and strength on her, the bully!

Yet she also remembered how forlorn and lonely she had felt, and how she had yielded to her tears. She had tried to be silent, but Haldir had heard anyway. He could have ignored her, but instead he had come to her and been quite gentle and offered her the bed. It was the first sign she had seen of a softer side to him, and it gave her pause. And then he had lifted her as he had done before, as though she weighed no more than a mallorn leaf. Under other circumstances, it might even have been a bit romantic, to be carried like that. But he had made the decision to use that spell on her again, which she did not like at all.

She sat up and looked around, wondering if he had slept on the floor or in the bed. She saw no sign of him, but she smelled food. Setting her bare feet upon the smooth floor, she sat for an instant, wishing she had her clothes. She peeked out the door leading to the terrace, trying to see where Haldir was. On the other side of the terrace she could see the kitchen, but no sign of him through the window or latticed door. Perhaps he had left.

Rounding the bed, she headed for the door leading into the front room, the one though which he had carried her last night. She stopped dead, seeing Haldir sitting at the table sipping a drink of some sort, looking as though all was right with the world. On the table before him sat a partially eaten loaf of fresh bread, honey, cheese, and what looked like several berry tarts. He must have been to the main kitchens already this morning.

"Good morning, Elanor," he said.

"Haldir, about last night—" she began, folding her arms over her chest.

"I said good morning, Elanor." His voice now held an implacable note.

She lifted her chin. "Very well then, good morning. About last night, Haldir, I do not appreciate you using sleeping spells on me. I could have gone to sleep quite easily on my own."

"In my bed?" he replied deliberately. "With me next to you? You showed signs of being troubled with that arrangement, although for one night I thought it practical."

Elanor opened and shut her mouth. "You said you were going to sleep on the floor," she said, after a moment's hesitation.

"I did not say that. I offered it, and you rejected my offer." His gaze swept over her as he sat back in his chair. "But as long as we are addressing such matters, I will tell you that I did not appreciate having sleeping powder put in my wine."

Elanor moistened her lips, assailed with a stab of guilt. "Yes, well, I am sorry about that. But how else would they have gotten you to my home? I did not want them hitting you over the head or hurting you."

"Your concern for my welfare is touching indeed," he said in a dry tone. "As for last night, you needed rest. You were not going to get it on the floor, and you refused to admit you were uncomfortable. It is exactly like your stubborn and needless suffering while riding the horse. A simple request and I would have eased your pain for you before it grew to be so great. Besides," he added offhandedly, "it was no great matter for me to see to your healing."

Elanor stared at him in horror, suddenly realizing that her aches and pains were completely gone. Blessed Valar, had he . . . had he touched her in those places while she slept? The blood rushed to her face as she imagined it. Even worse, she could see his lips twitch ever so slightly, as though he knew what she was thinking and found it amusing.

"You had no right!" she burst out. Angered and embarrassed, she walked over to the table, fixing her gaze on him and wishing she could say something that would wipe that smirk off his face. Her hand itched to slap him.

He rose to his feet, looking at her in that arrogant way so characteristic of him. "So you would rather I left you to suffer for the sake of your pride? I have seen female bodies before, my dear. There is no need for all this foolish modesty. I see you and I treat you as I would any comrade. A comrade-in-training, that is how I view you. So there is no need for coyness and prudery."

For a reason she did not pause to analyze, this speech sparked her fury more than anything else he could have said. "Oh, and do you bring your comrades here and force them to sleep with you?" she said with sarcasm.

"Do not use that tone with me, Elanor," he warned in a low, formidable voice. "If you had asked me to allow you to sleep in my bed, I would have gladly given it to you. If you had asked me to sleep on the floor to give you your privacy, I would have done so. You must learn to ask for what you want. If I consider your request reasonable and beneficial, then I will grant it."

Elanor's breathing had grown shallow, so great was her annoyance. "I do not believe you. You are only saying that to justify your—"

"Quiet, youngling!" His command sliced into her, his grey eyes narrowed, his lips now set in a flat line. "For once stop and think before you speak. Control your emotions before they land you in trouble. With me, if with no one else."

"I may not always think before I speak," she tossed back, "but you . . . you think too much!"

"One can never think too much," he snapped.

She lifted her chin, filled with a strange exultation. Haldir was intimidating, but something about him compelled her to defy him, as though some perverse part of her wished to see how far she could push him. "I do not think you have any emotions at all," she informed him, though she knew she might be going too far.

"You do not know me well enough to make such a statement, Elanor. And do not even think about throwing that teacup at me." His voice was calm once again.

Elanor glanced down, and realized that her fingers had wrapped around the cup he must have left out for her. "Oh really? And what would you do if I did?"

She picked it up and held her breath, not knowing why she was testing him, only knowing that she felt tempted to do so. Never in her life had she pushed anyone as she was pushing Haldir, and it felt exciting and dangerous and delicious and exhilarating. No one else had ever made her feel like this, not any of the males she had met in Rivendell.

"What would I do?" His eyes raked over her. "I would take you over my knee and give you a spanking you would not soon forget."

"You would not do that," she said uncertainly. The undignified and humiliating scene flashed through her mind, destroying her exhilaration.

"Try me. Throw the cup at me. Go ahead."

She set the cup down, clattering it against the saucer, and found to her surprise that she was shaking. She was no match for him. What was she thinking? He was stronger, craftier, and more ruthless than she could ever be.

"Very wise," he said. "You are learning."

They stared into each other's eyes, neither of them moving. He seemed to her at that moment to be beyond comprehension, a great wall of male muscle and resolve, a timeless dream created from her own wayward fancies.

Why had she behaved in such a childish manner? No wonder he was angry with her; she knew at that moment that she deserved his anger. But why? Perhaps it was because she wanted to see the aloofness disappear from his eyes. She did not like that coldness, and when he was angry, she saw his heat. How hard it was to believe he had actually kissed her in Lord Elrond's garden, and yet he had done so, and with much passion.

"What did you do to my plants?" he asked. Both the question and his curious tone caught her off-guard; it was as if the preceding scene was already forgiven and forgotten.

Bemused, she shifted her gaze to the pots sitting on the cabinet. Last night, she had not taken a good look at them, but now she saw that one was a kind of ivy, one was a multi-leaved plant she did not recognize, perhaps native only to Lothlórien, and the third, the one in the center, was elanor. Her namesake.

"I gave them water," she answered, "and I spoke to them."

"You spoke to them? In what manner?"

"I gave them love. That is what I do with plants. I talk, and they hear me. Plants are living things and respond to encouragement just as people do. They hear me. And I touch them. They . . . react to me."

He shot her a keen look. "Interesting," he commented. "You have always had this ability?"

"As long as I can remember." She looked away, all at once aware of him again in that way that always made her pulse quicken, even when she was angry with him. How did he manage to do this to her without doing anything at all? It was something indefinable in his eyes when he looked at her.

"The Lady wishes you to tend to her garden." He paused. "That is a request, Elanor. Galadriel thought you might enjoy it. You are free to refuse, though I admit I hope you do not."

"I would be honored," Elanor said with surprised pleasure. "Where is her garden?"

"In the southeast corner of the city." He walked to the door. "I will return later. You will stay here and eat or whatever else you wish to do."

His autocratic tone nettled her. For a moment it had seemed that they were sharing a moment of harmony. "You are telling me I may not go out?"

His gaze passed over her, his expression enigmatic. "You will only get lost. I will not be that long and you have arrows to repair. Later, you may do my laundry. And I have some sewing for you to do also."

He opened the door and left.

Extremely peeved, Elanor considered hurling the teacup after all. Maddening! Arrogant! Overbearing! And he had actually threatened to spank her like a small, disobedient elfling! The idea filled her with outrage.

"You may do my laundry," she mimicked, trying to sound like Haldir. "Oh, Haldir, may I? I would be so honored!" She fell to her knees with a thud. "To carry your sword was one thing, but to be allowed to wash your clothing, now _that_ is an honor to which I have long aspired! As unworthy as I am, I cherish the chance to beat the dirt from your tunics!" Bending forward, she clasped her hands together and pretended ecstasy, then lowered her forehead almost to the floor. "How I worship you, Oh Great One," she gushed, "Guardian of Lórien and Provider of Chores for Elanor of Rivendell . . ."

A soft breeze brushed against her cheek . . . a breeze wafting through the now open door in front of her.

Elanor lifted her head in shock, then scrambled to her feet, shoving her hair from her face and blushing deeply as she met Haldir's steady gaze.

"Is there something you wish to say to me . . . Elanor of Rivendell?" His eyes glittered strangely, but she could not tell if he was angry. Silhouetted against the light, he stood tall and still in the doorway, not threatening in any way, yet she instinctively knew this stance had served him well in many situations.

"No," she said, wondering how much he had heard. She was suddenly very conscious of the thinness of the fabric covering her body. She had actually forgotten that she was still wearing her nightdress.

"Are you quite sure?" he said softly. He moved closer and lifted her chin with his fingers, his gaze sliding over her face, neck and shoulders as though he were seeing her for the first time. "You perhaps have some complaint you wish to make?" She still could not make him out. Was he angered? Insulted?

"Oh, I think I have made enough complaints for one morning," she retorted, trying a little humor on him. She peeped at him through her lashes, and was relieved to see a tiny twitch at the corners of his mouth.

"Indeed you have," he agreed, his voice smooth as silk. "Although I must say that having you on your knees is not without certain benefits." He withdrew his hand, giving her a faint smile. "Two of them actually," he added, and this time she saw the grey flash of amusement in his eyes as, once again, he turned away from her and departed the talan.

Elanor clenched her hands into fists and stared at the door, waiting to see if he was going to pop in again.

Not without certain benefits? What did that mean?

Turning this over in her mind, she moved to peer into the mirror that hung above the cabinet with the plants, inspecting herself critically. All at once she caught sight of her nightdress, noticing how widely the neckline gaped open when she leaned forward. In fact, from a certain angle, it exposed her breasts completely. Her eyes widened. Oooh, Rúmil was right about Haldir's sense of humor! The wicked elf!

As discomposed as she was, she could not help wondering if he'd liked what he'd seen. Remembering how his hand had curved around her breast while he slept at the campfire that night, it suddenly dawned on her that she might have the means to make him as uncomfortable as he had made her. No matter what he claimed, she somehow did not think he really saw her as a comrade-in-training. It was an intriguing idea she would have to ponder while she took her morning meal.

Haldir headed toward Rúmil's talan, his lips clamped together in an effort to suppress his laughter. He could not remember a time when an elleth amused him as much as Elanor had just done. She seemed to fill a room with her essence just by being in it, though it would not do to encourage such blatant disrespect in one who was supposedly his ward.

He did not fully understand himself, and yet he did, for indeed, Galadriel had the right of it; he was not made of stone. In fact, the sight of Elanor's rosy-tipped breasts had nearly done him in. Between that, and that saucy, impertinent speech she had just made, he didn't know which he was more inclined to do—smack his hand against her comely backside or drag her into the bedchamber and kiss her until she begged him to take her fully. The latter was unfortunately not a course of action he was at liberty to pursue.

Yet.

Meanwhile, sleeping in one bed would definitely not do, nor was it what he had intended despite what Elanor might believe. He only knew he wanted her where he could keep an eye on her. She was in his charge, his responsibility, and he would not fail her. Thank the Valar he had gotten her to Lothlórien safely; she seemed to have the ability to get herself into trouble all too easily. But of course that was not the reason she was in his talan. She was there because he wanted her there where he could see her, where he could be with her and look at her. It was no more complicated than that.

It appeared that the Valar had smiled upon him after all. He would have a year with Elanor, and he was not going to waste it. How odd that such a foolish sequence of events could bring about such unexpected consequences. Before all this started, he had remembered her and been delighted to see her when she had appeared in Lord Elrond's garden. Under ordinary circumstances, he would certainly have tried to steal a kiss or two, and perhaps a great deal more. Afterward, he would have left her and returned to Lórien, either to dream of her or to forget her as he had done with many others.

He smiled at the thought. No, he would not have forgotten Elanor. He would have been counting the weeks and months and years until his next visit to Rivendell. He might even have written her letters, something he normally disliked doing.

However, because of his brothers, and Telrion and Minden, and lying Lana, and Elrond, and even Elanor herself . . . another path had been presented to him, like an unexpected gift. A year with Elanor. A year in which she was under his authority. It was a two-edged sword—not the first he had encountered, nor likely the last, but it could well be the one that tested him the most.

To have control over others was not new to him; he had wielded such power for centuries. Many elves answered to him, including his brothers, and he was used to it. It suited him well. However, to have such power over Elanor presented him with a unique challenge. For now, he must try to set aside his personal inclinations where she was concerned—or at least to make them secondary. In theory it should not be difficult; he had made duty a priority all his life.

He thought then of Healea, a maiden with whom he'd once been fascinated. For a long time now he'd known that what he'd felt for her had been a humorless ardency, dull and lusterless as unburnished silver. In the end, he'd known he did not love her, nor she him, and she had gone on to choose another, one of Galadriel's Sentinels.

He quickened his steps, admitting to himself that he was eager to complete his task and return to Elanor. He looked forward to teaching her how to repair arrows, to instructing her and watching her face as she learned this basic skill. Even more, he wanted to show her his city and behold her expression when she saw Galadriel's garden for the first time. And perhaps later he might enjoy another shoulder rub from those talented and lovely hands . . .

Rúmil paced back and forth in exasperation along the small terrace of his talan, waiting for Haldir to put in an appearance. "What can be keeping him? We should have left for the border an hour ago, but his message said to wait and here we are. Waiting!"

Orophin lounged on a curving bench, chewing idly on the stem of a fallen leaf. "What difference does it make? If he said he will be here, then he will be. Why do you not relax? It will be our last chance for a long while. Months, probably," he added gloomily. "Or millennia, considering how furious Haldir was with us. He has not forgotten what we did to him."

"What I want to know is what he has in mind for Elanor! What can he be thinking, keeping her in his talan like that? It is most unlike him. Ever since that business with Healea—"

Orophin waved this aside. "That was centuries ago," he said, "and he has never said one word about her since. I think he is very glad she chose another."

"I agree. My point is that his interest in the fair sex since that time has been reduced to physical encounters and nothing more. There was a time when he had hopes beyond a bit of bed sport." Rúmil's voice had grown pensive.

"Are you interested in her?" Orophin inquired curiously.

Rúmil stopped pacing. "In Elanor? Well, she is pretty, of course, and she amuses me. I would not mind getting closer to her," he added cautiously. "She has nice legs."

"And when did you see her legs?" Orophin demanded with a snort.

"Just before she fell in the stream. She was holding her skirt quite high." Rúmil smiled at the memory. "I think even Haldir enjoyed the view."

"Well, if you've a mind to pursue her, do it warily. I have a strong feeling our brother regards her as his personal property."

Rúmil's brows rose. "Indeed. That is interesting."

A sound at the door brought the conversation to a quick halt. Haldir strode across onto the terrace, his face set in its usual imperturbable expression. He looked from one to the other of them as though he knew they had been discussing him.

"Well, we waited," Rúmil informed him, his tone demanding an explanation for the delay.

Haldir strolled over to the bench and sat down next to Orophin. "I know I said you were to go to the border until at least mid-summer, but I have changed my mind. I want the two of you to return to the city at the end of the month. I have several others who can take your place at that time."

Both elves' jaws dropped. "The end of the month? But that is only two weeks." Rúmil and Orophin exchanged a quick, confused glance.

"You _are_ referring to this month? Not some other month? Or some other century," Orophin inquired, a bit jokingly. "What of our punishment? You are furious with us, remember?"

Haldir only smiled one of his irritating smiles. "I should exile you for a year or two, but I am prepared to forget what you did."

"Forget?" Rúmil repeated suspiciously. "Is this some trick? We drugged you and tied you to Elanor's bed. We stripped you and left you at her mercy."

"So you did," Haldir agreed. "Yet no real harm came of it except the temporary loss of my dignity. As to that, the two of you are always telling me I have too much pride so I suppose I can spare a little."

Orophin shook his head. "This is unlike you, Haldir. What are you not telling us?"

"You are unhappy with my decision?" Haldir inquired in a languid tone.

Rúmil grinned. "Two weeks is long enough," he put in hastily. "By then we will have fully repented our part in Elanor's plans."

"I do have another task for you," Haldir added. "When next I go to the border, I want the two of you to keep watch over Elanor. I cannot be with her all the time, obviously. The pair of you can make sure she has all she needs, but you should take care not to let her twist you around her finger, which she will try to do. She must learn to communicate her needs in a non-confrontational manner or suffer the consequences."

Rúmil shifted his feet. "I have no problem with that, but I have a question for you. What is your interest in Elanor? Why are you keeping her in your talan?" He frowned suddenly. "And where did she sleep last night?"

Haldir arched his brows. "Those are three questions, brother. I will answer only one and that is the first. My interest in her is as a guardian to his ward."

"So Rúmil is free to court her if he pleases?" Orophin said slyly.

"I did not say that. I expect the two of you to treat her as you would a younger sister."

"I might find that difficult," Rúmil protested, "since I have never had a sister. And, by the Valar, I don't regard her as a sister! And I will court her if I choose!"

Haldir slowly rose to his feet, facing his youngest brother with an indecipherable look. "If you do, you will remember that she is under my protection. You will be accountable to me for anything you might do. You are also charged with maintaining the discipline I have imposed on her. That is my command, and I mean it."

A quick flush skittered across Rúmil's cheekbones. "It sounds to me as though you want her for yourself!"

Haldir did not answer this. Instead he said, "Where is that cot you used to have? I wish to borrow it."

Rúmil stared at him. "I . . . lent it to Ondion a few years ago. He never returned it."

Haldir nodded. "I will acquire it from him. Until the end of the month, then. Farewell to you both."

After he was gone, Orophin looked at Rúmil. "I think we have the answers to some of our questions. As for the rest, it is none of our concern. Do you really wish to court her?"

"Not as much as I wanted to know what he would say."

"So I thought," Orophin murmured. He cast the leaf aside and stood up. "Let us go, brother."

It seemed to Elanor that Haldir had been gone a very long time. She had eaten, washed and dressed, tidied up, and laid out the damaged arrows upon the table. What was taking him so long? She had an urge to go exploring, and with the passing of each minute this urge grew stronger. True, he had indicated that she should remain here, but he had not actually forbidden her to leave. He simply must have been delayed.

Elanor tapped her fingers on the table, feeling restless and rather militant. Really, she saw no reason why she should not go out. His laundry could wait; she had seen that he had plenty of other garments to wear, although the same could not be said for her. She now regretted not bringing more items with her, but that could be rectified later.

Yes, she would go out. She would just take a short walk and then come right back and he need never know that she was gone. Heading for the door, she smoothed her hands over the skirt of her pale yellow gown and stepped outside.

For the first little while, she contented herself with just strolling around, working her way downward each time she encountered a set of steps. Now that she felt so much better, she could more fully appreciate the architectural splendor that had gone into this elaborate city in the trees. Just as in Rivendell, every minute detail displayed amazing craftsmanship, yet it was nothing like Rivendell at all. And just as the Sylvan elves had seemed more dangerous than the Rivendell elves, Caras Galadhon seemed more ancient and mysterious. It stirred something within her that almost gave her chills.

Eventually she reached the forest floor, and looked about, wondering which way was southeast. It might be nice to take a quick peek at Galadriel's garden before she returned to Haldir's talan. Choosing a path at random, she began to walk. The air smelled lovely, and for a moment she closed her eyes, smiling as a sense of peace crept over her. Perhaps her time in Lórien would be more enjoyable than she expected . . .

This was her last thought before she collided violently into a rock hard body that reminded her of Haldir. Shocked, Elanor stumbled back only to find herself held upright by a strong pair of hands.

"Forgive me, my dear," said a deep male voice. "I seem to have positioned myself in an inconvenient location."

Elanor looked up into a pair of blue eyes the color of a hot summer sky, eyes gleaming with laughter and wicked appreciation as they roved over her face and figure. Whoever he was, he had to be the most spectacularly beautiful elf in all Lothlórien. Striking features, brilliant white teeth, sculpted cheekbones and sensual lips vied with a physique that rivaled Haldir's in muscular magnificence. His long hair hung nearly to his waist, its color closer to gold than silver, like the rays of the sun cast upon a smooth morning lake.

Elanor gulped. "Forgive me. I was not paying attention to where I was going." She would have stepped by him, but he retained his hold on her arms.

"Don't run off. You are not of Lothlórien, and it is rare for us to have visitors, or at least visitors of such exceptional beauty. May I have your name?"

Elanor nearly snorted at the fulsome compliment. "My name is Elanor. Excuse me, but I must go." She spoke the words firmly, but still he did not release her. His raised brows made her clench her fists.

"A lovely name. It suits you." He smiled. "Why must you go? Can I be of assistance? Perhaps a distraction from your . . . duties?" His smile increased, his partly lowered lids barely masking a gaze that gleamed with dark and sensual secrets. Something told Elanor that he had already known who she was, though why he had pretended otherwise she could not fathom.

"I need no distraction." She twisted free and turned around, but he followed closely.

"Are you running away from me, Elanor?" Now he sounded concerned, his tone reminding her a little of Telrion. She halted her steps and turned to look at him. Had she been too abrupt? She did not want to hurt his feelings.

"Not at all. I appreciate your concern . . ." She wondered what his name was.

"I am Lurien," he filled in helpfully. "A Sentinel for the Lady."

Elanor glanced at him. "A Sentinel? What does that mean?"

"I am one of Galadriel's guards." He sounded very proud when he said it, and seemed to expect that she would be impressed.

"Oh, I see. You are one of Haldir's Wardens."

His golden brows snapped together. "I am not. The Sentinels are not under the March Warden's command. We report to Lord Celeborn himself." Something in his quick, almost affronted rebuttal pricked Elanor's attention. Was there perhaps some competition between the two groups of warriors?

"Oh," she said. "I did not know there was a difference."

Lurien gave an elegant shrug. "There is no way you could know unless someone told you, which I am sure Haldir did not. He does not like knowing there are those who are not under his command who are as important-if not more important—than he is. However, you need not concern yourself with that. Are you lost, my dear? May I escort you somewhere?"

It flashed through her mind that she might ask Lurien to show her the way to Galadriel's garden, but she found she no longer wished to go there, at least not with Lurien at her side. She shook her head, saying, "I must go back. Haldir will be wondering where I am." In fact, she knew she was very nearly lost already, though she thought she might have been able to find her way back given some time.

"It would be my honor to escort you, and I insist. You could wander for hours otherwise. You are staying with Haldir?" he asked smoothly.

"That is correct," she said shortly."I am his ward, and I left without him knowing."

"And to displease Haldir is to invite disaster," he drawled, his tone a little too sarcastic for Elanor's liking.

Elanor did not reply for in truth she did not know what to say. Her sudden and powerful urge to defend Haldir came as a shock, but she did not follow it. She decided not to question Lurien until she found out more about him from Haldir.

The climb to Haldir's talan seemed to go much more quickly than it had the previous day. Soon, Lurien was leading her up the steps to Haldir's door.

Before Elanor had time to thank the Sentinel properly for his escort, the door swung open and Haldir stepped outside. The two male elves faced each other, their gazes locked and none too friendly.

Lurien raised a long blond eyebrow. "I found this sweet maid wandering among the trees, March Warden. You might want to keep a closer eye on your pretty ward. Such flowers are easily plucked."

Haldir's eyes narrowed.

At the sight of Haldir's icy mien, Elanor decided it was better to retreat. She slipped around Haldir and went into the talan, pulling the door shut behind her. Yet once she was inside, she stood quietly, longing to press her ear to the door, but not quite daring. What were they saying to each other? She could hear nothing; they must be speaking very softly.

Only a moment later, the door reopened and Haldir entered, closing it firmly behind him. He did not say anything, but only looked at her as if expecting her to be the one to speak first.

"What did you say to him?" she said finally.

"That is none of your concern," he replied. "Why did you go out when I told you I would be back and that you might get lost?"

"Because you took so long," she said truthfully. "I did not plan to go far. Are you angry again?"

"Should I be angry? Were you trying to make me angry?" He walked closer to her, circling her as he spoke, his eyes never leaving her face as he examined her from every angle. She wondered if this was a tactic he often employed, this catlike, penetrating appraisal at which he so excelled. She imagined him using it on some bound and trembling enemy just before ordering their execution.

She shook her head. "Of course not. I only wanted to see some of the city, and perhaps to find your Lady's garden. I almost asked Lurien to take me there, but . . ." _But I wanted you to take me there,_ she almost said.

"That would have been a mistake. Lurien is not to be trusted."

She wet her lips. "What do you mean? Are you suggesting he will harm me in some way?"

"He will seduce you," Haldir stated.

She blinked, taken aback by his harsh tone. "You mean he will try."

Haldir looked at her. "He will succeed. He is experienced and cunning, and you, Elanor, are but an innocent babe. If he wants you, he will have you. And it will mean nothing to him."

She stood very still, groping for hidden meanings, and finally latched onto the one thing that seemed meaningful. "You do not give me much credit, Haldir. Do you think I am so inexperienced? I can take care of myself in that respect."

The tilt of his head changed. "Oh, Elanor," he murmured, moving close to her so that his mouth hovered near her ear, "I think we have already established how naïve you are. Do I have to remind you?" His fingers traced the fine bones of her wrist while his warm breath ruffled a few strands of hair near her cheek. "Perhaps I should, just to convince you."

A knee-weakening warmth shuddered through Elanor, but she raised her chin and tried to hide it. "Are you suggesting that you could seduce me if you chose?"

Several seconds slipped by before Haldir answered, with dangerous mildness, "Is that a genuine question or a challenge?"

Annoyed, she yanked her arm away, and spun around to face him. "You have said before that I misjudged you. Well, you also misjudge me if you think I am so easily taken in by the likes of this Lurien. Do you think that no one ever kissed me before you came along? Do you really think you are the first?"

If she had expected her vehemence to disorient him, she was mistaken; he only smiled as if she amused him. "I think I am the first to make you feel like you are on fire."

Her eyes widened at his presumption and arrogance, not to mention his accuracy. "You are quite conceited," she said unevenly, although she tried hard to sound cool. Suddenly, she caught sight of the mirror above the cabinet, which reminded her of his earlier comment, and her own resolution to use a different strategy with him. She drew a deep breath, determined not to give in to anger this time.

"What I truly think," she added carefully, "is that you would like me to believe that I am weak and you are strong. In reality, Haldir, I think I have more strength than you realize, and that you have your share of weakness that you think to hide from everyone. Including me."

For a few moments he fell silent, as though considering her words. "And I think this is going to be an interesting year for both of us. Now, come. We have arrows to repair. Perhaps you can mend their fletchings with as much skill as when you heal my plants and soothe the muscles of my shoulders."

She glanced at him, flooded with a confusion of pleasure and surprise that fought to cast out her annoyance with him. "Perhaps I should warn you that I am not nearly so talented at laundry and sewing," she said tartly. "You may be quite disappointed."

He sent her an amazingly amiable smile. "Well, Elanor, I expect the chance to practice those skills will present itself later today as well as on many other days. One should always give attention to those activities requiring improvement."

She made a small face, and then pondered the provocative implications of that statement. Silly Elanor, he surely was not referring to _that_ sort of activity. She darted a glance at him, wondering whether he was thinking what she was thinking. If so, she could not tell, for he was taking feathers from a leather pouch and laying them out upon the surface of the table.

She studied him with conflicting emotions, observing the fluid economy of his movements, the fall of his beautiful silvery hair, the unerring focus he gave to what he did. He was a warrior, harsh and dangerous and ruthless, not to mention autocratic and infuriating. So why was it that when she was with him, she felt so fascinated?

She reached over and picked up a feather. "So what should I do?"

Haldir pushed a pile of feathers in her direction. "Sort them by length into similar piles while I mix a paste to apply them."

They worked in silence for a time, then Haldir showed her how to pull the damaged fletching away from one of arrow shafts and prepare it for the fletching that would take its place. She watched him pick up a new set of equally-sized feathers and dip them into the paste, then carefully place them along the line of the shaft, smoothing with an expert stroke of his fingers. His well-shaped hands invited her notice, his fingers long and graceful, attentive and adept and as powerfully elegant as the rest of him.

He arched a brow at Elanor, challenging her in an unspoken way. Determined to do this, she picked up another shaft, this one free of any feathers, and copied his technique. He took it from her and examined it.

"Very good," he approved. "Excellent. As I expected of you, Elanor."

A warm glow grew inside her as they sat together, quietly working on the arrows. It was the happiest Elanor had been in a very long time.

tbc


	8. Chapter Eight

**Chapter Eight**

Several hours later, Elanor stood in Haldir's sleeping chamber, peering into his wardrobe. His laundry was done, his tunics, mantles and leggings clean, and while seeing to this task, she had met several very pleasant elf-maidens. Each of them had asked her about her wardship status to Haldir, and it had been difficult and embarrassing to explain.

"There was a misunderstanding, at least on my part," she had said. "I did something that offended him greatly and Lord Elrond felt that I owed Haldir more than a simple apology. My transgression against your March Warden was grave, I am ashamed to say. And so I make it up to him with a year of my service."

They were standing around several steaming vats of water beside a stream that wound its way among the trees of the city. Nearby, a sunny spot offered an area to spread out the freshly washed garments to dry, either on flat rocks or clipped to a hithlain rope strung between two poles.

All three ellith regarded her with open curiosity, yet their manners were too refined to demand further details. "You must have far more courage than I do," remarked the one called Gwirith, "I would never dare to offend Haldir in the first place." The tone of her voice told Elanor that she would not even consider it. She was the tallest of the three, with dancing eyes and a cheerful demeanor.

"Neither would I," Nerwen said, her dimples flashing. Something in her manner suggested she was the most pragmatic of the three. "I would rather attract his attention in a safer way. I would even be willing to do his laundry if it would bring me to his notice." All three of them had smiled at that comment.

"Yes," agreed Tarwë, the third, and perhaps the prettiest of these new elleths, "he is very handsome and much sought-after by unattached maidens such as us, but he favors no one of us over another." She paused. "He is also well known as a strict disciplinarian. I do hope he is kind to you. It must be very difficult to live in a new place so far from your loved ones, and then have to do it under his authority."

"Have you met anyone else?" inquired Gwirith before Elanor could answer. "I am sure there are a great many who would be pleased to make your acquaintance. Especially a few of our unattached males!"

"Well, I have met Rúmil and Orophin," Elanor told them as she carefully pressed the water out of one of Haldir's tunics. "Rúmil is especially friendly."

All three ellith laughed. "Oh, those two are always first in line to meet a new maiden," Nerwen informed her, a little dryly. "They are such flirts, but harmless, of course. You always feel safe when they are around. Whom else have you met?"

Elanor mentioned the names of several other elves who had made the journey from Rivendell to Lórien. "And I also met an elf named Lurien earlier today," she added, as an afterthought. "He said he was a Sentinel."

The three elf-maidens exchanged looks with each other. "Yes," said Nerwen, "I am not surprised. Lurien is always interested in the arrival of any new she-elves."

"Can you tell me anything about him?" Elanor asked. She was not truly that interested, but she wondered if there was more to the story of Lurien than what Haldir had told her. It was Haldir's reaction that concerned her.

"Lurien is a fierce and brave fighter," Tarwë put in, "but also a little . . . aggressive in other ways, shall we say?"

"Aggressive?" Elanor echoed, remember Haldir's warning. "Do you mean I should avoid him?"

"Not if you are of strong mind," Gwirith answered. "You simply need to understand what he can do. Be careful not to look directly into his eyes for too long. He has a kind of power over those of our sex. I have felt it myself a few times. You just need to be firm with him, that is all."

Nerwen snorted. "Let us be a little more frank with Elanor. The truth is that Lurien is an accomplished flirt who can be very charming indeed. So you must be on your guard lest you find yourself upon your back!"

The three laughed. "He and Haldir do not like each other," Tarwë added. "They once competed for the same maiden, though in the end Healea chose neither of them. But I doubt that Haldir holds a grudge, although Lurien may. They actually fought over her with swords, and Haldir bested Lurien, which I suspect he has never forgotten. But beyond that, the Sentinels and the Wardens tend to regard each other with coolness, if not suspicion."

"The Sentinels find the Wardens arrogant, while the Wardens consider the Sentinels a pack of peacocks!" Nerwen inserted. "Each group thinks they are more important than the other, although many of us feel that the Wardens have the better claim in that regard."

"Some of the Sentinels _are_ peacocks," Tarwë agreed, her eyes twinkling.

"Do not let Lurien hear you say that," Gwirith teased, "if you want him to dance with you at the next festival."

"You can be sure I will not," Tarwë retorted with a sassy grin. "I intend to tame that elf yet, though it may take me another age to do it! And let it be noted, Elanor, that I am the only one of the three of us who can look into Lurien's eyes for any length of time without being entirely deprived of sensible thought."

The rest of the conversation had revolved around various male elves, which seemed to be a favorite topic of conversation among these three. Elanor had felt flattered that they seemed to have admitted her into their circle, although she did not know most of the elves of whom they spoke. They had not talked much about Haldir, perhaps because of her unique situation with him, but they had seemed to regard him with a respect bordering on awe. For some reason, this had pleased Elanor.

With a shake of her head, Elanor drew herself from her thoughts. She was inspecting the interior of Haldir's large oak wardrobe as she put his clean clothes away, her fingers absently caressing and smoothing the material of his garments. She frowned as she took in his system of organization. He appeared to arrange things according to color, when it made far more sense to arrange them by function and amount of wear. Clearly some of these tunics were of very fine quality, while others looked as though he had crawled through the mines of Moria in them. Shaking her head, she reorganized his clothes, then proceeded to the front room to check on the plants.

Leaning closer, she whispered to them as she had done the night before, and was pleased to feel their slight response. "Your master hardly looks at you, does he?" she murmured, "yet he brought you here so he must want you and care for you. He simply does not know how to show it." Directing her attention to the center plant, she confided to it that she had been graced with its name; immediately she could feel the plant's pleasure. She touched their leaves with her fingertips and closed her eyes, aligning herself with their essence so she could hear their message.

Thus it was that when Haldir opened the door to his talan, he found Elanor pushing the heavy wooden cabinet across the floor with a horrendous screech. "What are you doing?" he exclaimed, his voice rough with outrage.

Elanor halted and stood straight, shoving a lock of hair from her eyes as she met his frowning gaze. "I am moving the cabinet," she said tentatively.

"So I see," he said with flat disapproval. "What I meant to ask was why. I did not give you permission to do this." She took in his rigid posture with a sinking heart. Was he truly so annoyed over this small thing?

"Your plants prefer the window on the other side of the room," she explained, trying to make it sound rational. "They believe they will be happier there so I am . . . I am moving the cabinet on which they sit. I did not think you would object. It will look just as nice over there."

"I want the cabinet to stay where it was. It has been there for as long as I have lived in this talan, and I see no reason to change it." He spoke inflexibly, as though his mind was made up, his face set with its usual arrogance.

It would be so easy to yield to him, to give in to each of his dictatorial commands. Yet if she did so, she instinctively felt that something would be lost, either a piece of herself or some part of the unspoken truce that was slowly emerging between them. Each time she pushed him, he pushed back hard, and yet she felt she was making a small bit of progress. Toward what end, she did not know, but for the sake of her pride and self-respect, she knew she must not surrender. If she did, the powerful tide of his personality would completely submerge her. It would be like Lana all over again, except far, far worse.

So it was that Elanor set her hands on her hips and lifted her chin, confronting Haldir in a way she suspected he was unused to anyone doing. "Your cabinet does not care where it sits, Haldir. Your plants do."

He assessed her narrowly, as though debating whether to enforce his will. Several moments passed before he said, "I see. Well, who am I to argue with my plants?" The odd touch of humor in his voice gave her a small thrill. She'd won. But now she owed him.

"Perhaps you could assist me?" she asked with difficulty. After all, he had told her to tell him when she needed help.

His mouth quirked into one of his rare smiles. "Of course, Elanor."

She stepped aside, hoping he did not see how much he affected her. Those smiles of his always unsettled her, made it difficult to think. Certain unsafe images spun through her mind, but she brushed them away, although not before her knees had gone a little weak.

He made short work of the task, and the cabinet was soon in its new location, the plants returned to its polished surface. Elanor touched them to give them reassurance, then turned to find Haldir observing her. A self-conscious blush rose in her cheeks.

"Your laundry is done," she said, quickly and a bit awkwardly, yet with dignity, she hoped.

"Very good," he said with a nod. He gazed at her for a moment longer before he spoke again. "I am sorry but I cannot be with you this evening. There is a gathering I must attend, so there is no need to cook unless you wish it for yourself. I stocked the kitchen this morning with vegetables and a variety of other items. Most nights I would like you to cook for me, for I prefer to eat here rather than in the common dining area. My stores of wine are getting low and I have had no time to refill them, so you may attend to that." He strode across the room and entered the kitchen, saying, "And I should show you where the . . . what in Mordor did you do?"

Elanor followed him and peeked through the doorway. Haldir was gazing upward at his shelves, looking highly displeased.

"I changed it around to suit myself," she said hastily. "All the things I would need in order to cook were up too high. I am not as tall as you, in case you had not noticed."

He flashed her a quick, appraising look. A glimmer came and went in his eyes, too fast to analyze. "Very well, Elanor. You may leave it like this."

"What sort of event are you attending?" she ventured to ask, wondering why he did not invite her along. Was she only an underling to him? Was he embarrassed to be seen with her? Did he dislike being with her? Had he invited someone else?

"It is a gathering of wardens. One of our younger elves has just attained warden status. Each time this happens, a ceremony followed by a celebration is customary. My elves enjoy the chance to partake of such revelry. They do not often get it." His gaze swept over her, lingering on her face long enough that she wondered if he had sensed her questions. "I am sorry, but I cannot invite you to come with me. It is for wardens only and will get very wild. And though we do have several female wardens, they will not remain long after the initial ceremony. They will roll their eyes and leave," he added, his slight smile a little twisted.

"Oh, I see," said Elanor, surprised that he had taken the trouble to explain in such detail. She drew a breath, feeling oddly reassured. She could not imagine Haldir celebrating anything wildly.

"I must get dressed now or I will be late." He strode from the room, taking the shortcut across the terrace to his sleeping chamber.

She wandered back into the front room and sat down in one of the cushioned chairs, wondering how long it would be until . . .

"Elanor!"

. . . the next eruption of his temper.

Scowling darkly, Haldir emerged from his bedchamber, clad only in partially unlaced black leggings that hugged him like a second skin. "What did you do to my clothes?" he demanded, as oblivious as ever to the effect he had on her in that state of undress.

She swallowed, trying not to stare at his naked chest or the perfect, long line of his muscular legs and narrow hips. "Surely the answer to that is obvious, Haldir."

He glared at her, his face taut with displeasure. "I cannot find anything now."

"That is untrue," she said patiently. "All you need to do is observe it for a moment, and you will see that what I have done is far more logical than what you had."

He pressed his lips together, and returned to his sleeping chamber. A short time later he came back wearing a clean pair of leggings and a dark blue tunic with silver edging, slightly open at the neck so that the soft evening breeze could kiss the strong column of his throat. He had removed the warrior's braid from his pale hair so that it flowed freely over his broad shoulders in a cascade of pure silver.

"Please do not rearrange anything else," he said in a clipped tone. "At least not until I have accustomed myself to what you have already done. Did you notice the basket in the corner?"

"Yes," she said resignedly.

"All the things in it are in need of repair," he went on. "You will find sewing equipment in that cabinet we just moved." Observing her expression, he added, "I was not suggesting that you do it all tonight, of course."

"I am not planning to do _any_ of it tonight," she returned with asperity.

One dark eyebrow shot up, but he did not take her to task for the remark. He walked to the door, then glanced back at her, his expression of detachment firmly in place. "Tomorrow, I will take you to Galadriel's garden. You will enjoy that."

When he was gone, the room seemed empty. Elanor sank into one of the cushioned chairs, a little tired from her day's exertions. She was not lonely. She refused to be lonely, not now, not any more. She was making new friends, starting to learn a little about this new place. Everything would come out right in the end. The year would soon go by and she would be back in Rivendell among familiar faces. Eventually Lana would return and things would return to the way they had been.

No, she thought, rejecting this even as it went through her mind. Nothing would ever be the same. She would not allow it to be the same.

She pressed her hands together in her lap, needing to put her chaotic thoughts in order. Haldir intrigued her, she could no longer deny it, but why that was so, she did not know. At times she disliked him; other times she did not. He said and did things that irritated her, but she had found that he could also be patient and agreeable. He had tied her to her bed and taunted her, touched her, brutally ripped her clothing. The memory of it should have been appalling, yet with the passing of the days, her anger and indignation were fading into . . . something else.

Elanor leaned her head against the back of the chair and released a pent-up sigh. These past few days her thoughts seemed to have a will of their own, darting and delving into areas where they had never gone before. Yes, she admitted she had been naïve. She had tried to punish Haldir; she had trailed her fingers over his flesh in an effort to embarrass him and had only succeeded in embarrassing herself. All too clearly she recalled every inch of his powerful physique, not to mention the intimacy of his physical arousal. It was a seductive image that remained to haunt and tease her, untamed and insistent as a strong wind battering against the walls of a shaky dwelling.

Only nature, he had said. Was that what she was feeling now, this gathering awareness, the curious tingling, this insistent humming in the back of her mind?

Surely it was more complicated than that, at least for her if not for him. For instance, she could not even imagine feeling like this about Lurien. No doubt he would be just as beautiful as Haldir beneath all those clothes—such a shocking thought, Elanor!—and yet she had no desire to find out. She felt no attraction to Lurien. None at all. Nor had she ever felt anything for Telrion or any other elf she had met, although she had indeed kissed a few to find out. So Haldir was right; she was naïve—naïve in matters of the heart as well as matters of the flesh. She knew almost nothing about either.

And what did any of this matter? Elanor gave herself a small inward shake. What foolishness she was thinking when she ought to be preparing an evening meal for herself. She rose from her chair and headed for the kitchen.

Later, as she readied herself for the night, something that had been nudging at her all day came back with a rush. Haldir had once courted a maiden named Healea and been rejected. A quick spurt of indignation shot through Elanor at the idea. Who was this Healea? Had she caused Haldir much pain? Was that why he was so cold and aloof? Pondering this while she drew a comb through her hair, she was conscious of an illogical pang of dislike for an elleth she had not even met.

She had found the cot he had set out on the terrace for her. At least it was better than the floor, and she rather liked the idea of sleeping out under the stars as long as she had a bit of padding beneath her. The weather had grown pleasantly warm the moment they had entered Lothlórien, and tonight was beautifully clear. She settled herself beneath the quilt, and gazed upward at the dark mellryn branches silhouetted against the moonlit sky. Somewhere in the distance, an owl hooted. It was peaceful here among the plants with the rustling golden leaves providing gentle background companionship.

Starting to relax, she tried to envision Haldir participating in a mayhem of drunken revelry. Would he be drunk when he came back? She had seen Telrion and Minden drunk, falling all over the ground, and thought it most undignified. Haldir would not do that, she was quite sure. If he was very drunk, she supposed he might fall straight into bed with all his clothes on. But what if he came out here to talk to her first?

A sudden idea occurred to her that was rather naughty. Remembering his wicked witticism this morning about her "benefits", she decided to pay him back with a little teasing of her own. The scooped neckline of her full-sleeved nightgown had originally been much more modest, drawn together by a lovely blue silk ribbon woven into almost invisible slots in the fabric, but Lana had borrowed the ribbon and never returned it. Now that widened neckline could serve a purpose.

Elanor turned on her side and adjusted the neckline so that it slid a little way down her arm. She was a little vain about her shoulders, which she thought were quite nicely shaped. So if Haldir happened to come out upon the terrace, he could admire the bare curve of her shoulder. Perhaps he might even be a tiny bit aroused, enough to feel frustrated. A small smile curved her lips at the thought. That would teach him!

Haldir lounged at his ease next to two of his long time companions, Rion and Beredain, both of whom had been drinking both wine and Miruvor ever since the celebration began. Haldir himself had had quite a lot, for each of the wardens had wished to drink with their captain, and there were enough of them present to make that a challenge. It was fortunate that his solid build enabled him to drink a great deal, but he realized he had better stop or he would be falling all over the place like . . . like Elanor. He almost grinned at the thought, thinking of Elanor falling into the stream. She had been so cold, so bedraggled, and so absolutely delightful. It was an image he would not soon forget, although he had gotten quite angry with her later.

Rion nudged him in the ribs. "I think I'm going to be sick."

Haldir smirked. "Then go somewhere else and do it. You should know better, Rion. Your stomach is no stronger than Orophin's."

Rion belched loudly, and pushed his pale hair over his shoulder. "You drank as much as I did. I wager you can't even find your own talan right now."

Beredain guffawed and leaned forward to address Rion. "Haldir has a stiffer hide and a harder head than you ever will, Rion. Do you remember the last celebration? I never thought I would see . . ."

Haldir stopped listening. He was thinking of Elanor again. He had been doing that all night, even when he was talking or listening to others. It was not like him at all, but since he _was_ drunk, he supposed it was natural to remember the last time he'd been drunk, back in Rivendell. His thoughts drifted over the events of those last two days in Rivendell. Meeting Elanor, kissing her in the garden, then the following night of drinking only to wake up tied to her bed. And this morning, seeing her on her knees with that gaping neckline! His groin tightened at the memory.

"By the way, that ward of yours seems a bit clumsy," Beredain remarked. "In a charming sort of way."

Haldir glanced at him. "Oh? Have you met Elanor?"

"Not yet." Beredain grinned. "I would like to, of course. I only saw her from a distance, but she looked quite lovely from where I stood. Though I would not trust her to carry my bow, if I were you. At least not up a flight of stairs." He laughed and reached for his cup, then was distracted by the approach of another warden.

Haldir glanced around at his elves, all in various states of inebriation at this point. Of course most of his wardens were where they should be, at the border doing their duty, but there had been enough here tonight to make it a memorable occasion for the inductee. Rúmil and Orophin had bemoaned that they would miss this, but that was part of their punishment. As it was, he had been far more lenient than they deserved, and they knew it.

Wondering how steady he actually was, Haldir rose to his feet and wished his fellow wardens good night. He then proceeded—with only slightly less grace than usual—to ascend the maze of steps and bridges that led to his talan. He was sure Elanor would be asleep, but he found himself hoping she was not. He had an urge to hear the sound of her voice.

Inside the front room, he paused, glancing around to make sure she had not changed the position of any more furniture. The last thing he wanted to do was to trip over something and fall on his face. There was no sign of Elanor, of course. He had been foolish to hope she might have waited up for him. Wise of her, actually.

With slightly less than his usual efficiency, he stripped off his outer and under tunic and tossed them onto a chair. He was about to removed his leggings when he decided to indulge himself and take a look at her before retiring for the night. He wanted to take her image with him when he dreamed—not that he needed to look at her for that. However, when he walked into his sleeping chamber, the large bed was empty.

Where was she? He went still automatically, several possibilities racing through his mind. Dismissing all but one, he headed for the terrace with steps that no one but he would have known were wobbly.

And found Elanor where he expected.

He stared down at her, realizing that he had omitted to tell her that the cot was for him. Between the moonlight and his elven eyesight, he could see her quite clearly, the pale gleam of her shoulder drawing his eyes like a magnet. She was not awake. But the temptation to change that was more than he could resist.

Her eyes flew open when he heaved himself down on the cot, his hips pressed against the inner curve of her body. "We seem to have another misunderstanding, Elanor." His head felt thick, as though his thoughts and his mouth were not connected.

"Haldir, what are you doing?" Like all elves, her awakening was sudden and absolute.

"You are in my bed. The cot is for me." He had landed on her sleeves, his weight forcing them to slide lower so that the fabric strained against her breasts. He found himself disinclined to change that situation.

"Then you should have told me so. How was I to know?" She tried to sit up, but could not do so without leaving her nightgown behind.

With a deliberate lack of haste, he brushed the backs of his fingers over her shoulder and across the exposed flesh on her chest, then splayed his fingers at the base of her throat. He could feel the rapid beat of her pulse beneath the sensitive pads of his second and third fingers. "I think you might have guessed," he murmured softly. "Or perhaps you wanted me to find you, waiting here for me like a sweet little gift."

"That's not amusing!" She had started to wiggle, trying to pry her sleeves out from under his hips. "You are drunk," she added, sounding quite critical. For some reason, this made him laugh.

"Yes, Elanor, I am very drunk." Withdrawing his hand, he gazed down at her face, studying the dark fringe of her eyelashes, her straight nose, the fine curve of her cheek. Her chin, he decided, held a definite hint of stubbornness. "So tell me, what is this I hear about you dropping my bow?"

Her face took on a guilty expression. "It is really not important, Haldir. No damage came to it. I caught it before it went over the edge."

"Over the edge," he repeated, a bit startled. "The edge of what?"

"The stairs," she explained, her tone implying that his wits were lacking, which did seem to be the truth. "I was nearly to your talan when it happened. Almost happened, I mean. Nothing actually happened, Haldir. Why are you looking at me like that?"

Subduing his amusement, he shook his head. "Elanor, we will not discuss this now. Right now, I want you to get out of my cot and take yourself off to bed."

"I am perfectly fine where I am. It is you who should go sleep in your own bed and leave me in peace."

"Elanor, do you have to argue with me over every confounded order I give you?"

"Only the ones that do not make sense!"

"I may be drunk," he remarked, "but I am not beyond dealing appropriately with young wards who disobey everything I say."

"This cot is too narrow for you. It fits me perfectly and I am enjoying the—" The sentence ended in a squeak as he threw back the quilt and yanked her to her feet, then tossed her over his shoulder.

"Haldir! Put me down at once! Oh, you are _such_ a bully!"

He grinned, suddenly enjoying himself hugely. "Stop squirming, Elanor, before I drop you on your head. Do you hear me?" A light smack on her bottom punctuated the order. "Do as I say, youngling."

"Do not call me youngling!" She reached down and smacked him on his own backside. His grin widened as he strode into his bedchamber. From no one other than Elanor would he have tolerated such insolence.

He dropped her onto the bed, and laughed outright at her expression. "You might as well not bother to wear a nightdress, Elanor. That one is hardly doing its task."

Indeed, with all her writhing and twisting the garment was practically down to her waist, trapping her arms in the process. Without pausing to think, he leaned over her, pinning her so there was no way she could adjust it without ripping it.

He lowered his gaze to her delectably taut nipples. "You can't blame the cold air this time," he teased. "Your benefits are blooming quite beautifully, my sweet flower."

She blushed crimson, but caught him by surprise with her cheeky reply. "I imagine your own benefit is doing much the same!" It came out as a breathy whisper of defiance, hardening his desire as nothing else could have done. A hot wave of pure lust slammed into him, yet he found himself focusing on her perfectly shaped lower lip rather than her naked breasts, which were rising and falling with increased swiftness with her small gasps.

"Indeed," he said thickly. With sudden aggressiveness, he lowered himself over her, his weight not quite on her, but as near as made no difference, his stiffened member pressed hard against her leg. "Mordor take Elrond," he growled, his voice low and rough. "By the Valar, if you were not my ward, if you were anything else, I would take you right now like I've never . . ." He broke off just in time, and drew a shuddering breath.

What was he saying? Had he lost his mind?

He stared down at her, his gaze fixed on those wide blue eyes, eyes that were innocent and trusting and seductive and fully aware of what it was that he sought. He could have her if he wanted, that was obvious. She neither tried to resist him, nor tried to fight him; she just waited to see what he would do.

Which unfortunately was going to be precisely nothing. She was his ward. A pail of cold water dashed in his face could not have brought him to his senses more effectively than that thought.

Expelling a harsh sigh, he climbed off of her and walked away without a backward glance, knowing he had behaved very badly and quite disgusted with himself. Where had all his legendary self-discipline gone? What would his brothers say if they knew of this? He had better not get drunk again until his obligation to Elanor was completed.

He lay on the cot where she had been, able to smell the light floral scent of whatever she used to clean her hair. It had clung to her ever since they left Rivendell, and he liked it. More than liked it. He wanted to drown in it.

Instead, he was left grinding his teeth with frustration, his head still whirling from too much drink. He did not like going to bed in this condition—drunk, sexually aroused and alone. He stared up at the stars and swore very softly, using a jumble of curses from the various tongues he had learned. It eased him somewhat. Afterward, he simply relaxed and focused on her name. How ironic that of all the flowers that grew in Lothlórien, elanor had always been his favorite. Quite ironic, in fact.

Or prophetic.

Elanor lay alone in the dark, still trembling with the knowledge of what she had wanted—or at least what her body had wanted. And she had looked up into his mist-grey eyes and known he had wanted the same thing. Even now, the heat of her longing still throbbed in that special place, so sweet and female and hidden.

She breathed in and out, willing her desire to fade so that she did not commit some wild act of madness such as jumping out of bed and following him out onto the terrace. A new rush of heat shot through her as she envisioned it. The mere idea was almost unbearable with its possibilities . . .

But he had been able to resist her. Even drunk, he had all that self-control, the strength of will to tease her and then retreat, while she was a mass of writhing emotions and self-doubts that clouded her judgment and ate away at her self-confidence. She had wanted so much to put her arms around him and pull him down to her, and had not quite dared. She had feared humiliation, feared that he might pull away with a smirk.

Even now, her doubts were setting in. He might very well have found her wanting in some way. He might have looked at her and seen something that put him off. She had to remember that she was only his ward, no more and no less. He had been drunk, that was all. Males did odd things when they were drunk. It meant nothing.

Only nature . . . and she didn't even like him . . . he was arrogant, maddening, intimidating . . . and what a bully, to carry her upside down like that! He should have just admired her shoulder . . . she was so naïve.

Elanor looked down and realized that her nightgown was still scrunched around her abdomen. Pulling her arms from the sleeves, she raised her hands and cupped them over her breasts, feeling the hard nubs of her nipples press against her palms. A single tear slid down her cheek. She did not know what she wanted. Just now, she only wanted to rest in the sweet oblivion of a dreamless reverie.

In the morning, he was gone. She had not heard him leave, but she was not surprised. Perhaps he regretted what he had said and did not want to be reminded of it by the sight of her. She would not think of him either.

She dressed and ate alone, then decided to air out the bedding and start on his basket of mending. How long would he be gone? An hour? All day? She had no way of knowing. She picked up a small rug, intending to step outside to shake it, and flung open the door just as a slim maiden raised her hand to knock.

"Oh!" The elleth gasped, taking a small step backward.

"Oh, I am sorry!" Elanor said. "Did I startle you?"

The visitor grinned sheepishly. "Oh, no, not at all. Well, yes, you did startle me a little." She giggled. "So silly of me! You must be Elanor! Is Haldir also here?"

"No, he has gone out. I know not where he is, or how long he might be gone. Do come in." Elanor dropped the rug and moved aside so her visitor could enter.

The maiden stepped into the talan, her manner friendly. "I am Doria, Haldir's seamstress. I have brought a tunic that he ordered some time ago. It has been so long I am sure he thinks I had forgotten him." She laughed gaily. "Of course, Haldir never forgets anything." She unfolded the tunic to show Elanor. "I thought it a nice pattern. What do you think?"

Elanor studied the tunic, then reached out to touch the fabric, which was extremely soft with a slight texture that warmed her fingertips. A pale blue-grey that was almost silver, its color mimicked the hoary bark of the Mellryns. Around the rim of the neckline, intertwining, leafy vines were embroidered in ivory.

"It is beautiful," she breathed, imagining it on Haldir. He would look exquisite in it. For what grand event would he wear it?

Doria sighed with obvious pleasure. "I thank you, Elanor. I often doubt my skills, although the Lady seems to like what I do well enough." She draped the tunic carefully across one of the cushioned chairs, saying, "Do you have plans for today?"

Elanor hesitated. "Well, I have sewing to do for Haldir. Not work like yours, only mending."

"Ah, good, then you need not do it now! His mending can certainly wait."

Elanor decided she liked Doria. "True enough, but Haldir might not agree."

The corners of Doria's eyes crinkled with merry humor. "I know Haldir. I am sure he would not mind if you took some time for yourself while he is out. It must be overwhelming to be on your own in our city. Not that you are alone when you are with Haldir, but he cannot always be around. He has so many duties. Has Haldir shown you anything yet?"

"He directed me to the place where I could do his laundry," Elanor said dryly. "Other than that, no, I have not seen much. I think he means to take me to visit Galadriel's garden later. He believes I will get lost if I try to find it on my own."

Doria chuckled. "We shall leave that for him then, and I will show you other places. As for getting lost, I am sure there are many who would be more than happy to help you find your way back. One in particular from what I've heard."

"Oh? What have you heard? Do people think that Haldir forbids me to leave his talan?"

"Haldir? Oh, no, I was not speaking of him!" She laughed. "I meant my brother, Lurien. He has already told me about you, and I could see that he was very much taken with you! Others are also. In fact, you are the talk of the city, Elanor. It is all so mysterious, your coming here as Haldir's ward." Her pretty face took on a curious expression. "No one knows exactly what you did, but the rumor is that you dared do something no one here would have the courage to do. That sparks interest. Not to mention your dark hair is so different from ours. You are quite exotic. At least my brother thought you so."

"I am not at all exotic," Elanor said with a laugh. "Back in Rivendell, I am not considered anything above the average. Below average, more like."

Doria blinked. "Below average? Are the elves in Rivendell blind?" She slipped her hand around Elanor's arm, pulling her over to the mirror. "Look here, Elanor. What do you see?"

Elanor looked at herself critically. She saw what she always saw, the dark hair, the blue eyes, the ordinary mouth and nose. Always she had compared herself to Lana's golden loveliness or to the dark beauty of Arwen Evenstar. Even at this instant, she compared herself to Doria, who stood so tall and beautiful with her silver hair and clear, laughing eyes. Exotic? The seamstress was daft.

Doria must have read Elanor's rejection of her words, for she said, "You may not believe me, Elanor, but you are quite beautiful. I know my brother thinks so."

Elanor tried not to grimace at the thought of Lurien. "My friends back in Rivendell call me Ellie," she offered.

Doria grinned. "Well, that's settled then. Your friends in Lórien shall call you that as well. Come, Ellie, my exotic new friend. Let me show you some of our city, omitting the Lady's garden, of course. We will leave that for the March Warden. He loves Galadriel's garden." She grinned, and without realizing it, added the one thing that almost destroyed Elanor's pleasure. "He used to take Healea there all the time."

tbc

And thank you to our reviewers! We are glad you are enjoying our story!


	9. Chapter Nine

_Someone once asked about Elanor's age, referring to the fact that Haldir calls her 'youngling'. In the third chapter, Elrond tells Haldir that 'Elanor is more than a century older than her sister, and Lana is well over two hundred'. As for Haldir, we do not know his age, but for fan fiction purposes, it is often assumed he is between 2 and 3 thousand years old, and this is the way we write it. Yes, she is an adult, but also much younger than he is. I like to think of him as a crusty old bachelor who needs someone youthful to pep up his life and shake up his bachelor existence. Why not? And the reason he calls her 'youngling' is primarily to try to create distance between them for his own peace of mind. At least this is how I see it. Thanks for reading-Julie_

**Chapter 9**

Haldir strode purposefully through the Golden Wood in the direction of the city gates. He had risen early and had come out here to think, and perhaps to bring himself to a more peaceful state of mind concerning Elanor. He had not accomplished that, although he had spent some time in a tree watching the pre-mating ritual of a pair of squirrels. It had not improved his mood.

He had mocked other elves for doing much the same thing that he was doing, and that knowledge rankled. Haldir of Lórien did not sit around sighing over maidens like a love-sick calf—despite the fact that her image continually burned in his brain. She was his ward, he had a duty, and so did she! And, by the Valar, they would both fulfill it! He had gotten no further than this in his reasoning.

She had done nothing wrong, that was the problem, other than to fail to run when the goblins had attacked. He could hardly discipline her for dropping his bow, or rearranging his tunics. The worst she had done had been to fail to tell him of her aches and pains, and she had suffered the consequences of that. Perhaps he should not have healed her; he had been too lenient. He was not usually so soft.

But that matter aside, it felt like she was taking over his life! His wardens gave him obedience, no matter whether they were new or had been with him for centuries.

Elanor argued.

And he was giving in to her, time and again! While he had always considered himself a reasonable elf, there had been few times when he had changed his mind about anything. He trusted his own judgment and knew it to be sound. Yet where Elanor was concerned, he wavered time and again. Was this good?

And why did he derive so much enjoyment from their clashes? It was not at all what he expected, and it unsettled him.

As a rule he preferred a mature, accommodating elleth, an elleth with whom he could share a moment of physical companionship with no strings attached, with no explanation and no discussion of why or how or what came next . . . and certainly no arguments! He had several Lórien ladies with whom he shared this type of discreet liaison, and each of them understood that, although she had his respect, their time together was only for physical pleasure. Each knew that there were others, and none of them talked about it or seemed concerned. Certainly none of them argued with him. Ever. And since he never asked anything unreasonable, how could it be otherwise? It had worked perfectly for a very long time, and he had no wish to jeopardize any of those relationships.

Yet.

So why was he not with one of them right now? And why had he not simply gone to one of them last night? Haldir sighed, knowing the answer even as he shoved it aside.

And what of honor? Never before had he questioned his understanding of it. To take advantage of one who was weak for one's own gains, that was dishonorable. To seek one's pleasure with a female who was under his authority, this also was dishonorable, was it not? Elrond had spoken clearly of his expectations in that regard. But no longer did it seem clear, for Elanor had wanted him last night. If she had not, she would have made it apparent. She certainly seemed to have no qualms about making her wishes on everything else known to him, although seldom in the wisest of ways.

He nodded briefly at the Sentinels at the city gate as he reentered the city and headed toward the nearest set of stairs. What would Elanor think when she woke to find him gone? He had not considered this until now. He hoped she would not . . . would not what? He frowned as he began to take the steps two at a time. What did he know of Elanor's mind and its workings?

When he entered his talan, he knew at once she was not there for it held a silence it had never held before. Then he noticed the new tunic spread over his chair. Ah, that explained it; Doria had been here, and had presumably taken Elanor under her wing. That was well, for even though she was Lurien's sister, she could be trusted to take good care of Elanor.

He walked over and examined the tunic, smiling with satisfaction as he did so. It was a gift for Orophin's birthday, which would be a huge surprise since they had ceased the exchange of gifts many centuries ago. However, this was a gift of another nature, one that would please Orophin in an unexpected manner.

He took the tunic and hid it away in his wardrobe, then returned to the front room. On impulse, he went and looked at his plants. They actually did seem perkier than they had been before. And the elanor plant had two little buds on it, just on the verge of opening. Haldir sighed, and left to find Elanor and Doria.

"And this is the bathhouse," Doria explained. "Males and females usually bath at different times, of course, although exceptions can be made if desired. Only a few, such as Haldir and of course Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn, have bathing facilities within their talans."

They stood within a circular tent-like structure with a curtained doorway, gazing into a shallow pool whose water appeared to be channeled from a nearby stream. The latticed, vine-covered roof let in enough light to nurture the lush flowers set about the perimeter of the bathing pool. A few flower petals floated in the water. The air was soft, like silk, and the heady floral scent drifted with the breeze that eased its way in with the parting of the curtain. Multicolored glass flacons set on low tables held what Doria told her were precious perfumes, lotions and soaps.

"You can come here with me, if you want," Doria explained cheerfully. "The water is quite warm, and we have wonderful gossip sessions! Every once in a while, we catch males hovering outside, trying to eavesdrop because they know we talk about them. It is so droll!"

Elanor smiled, her thoughts automatically drifting to Haldir. "I cannot imagine Haldir doing something like that."

"Good gracious no, not the March Warden! Now his brothers, that is a different story." A smile curled her lips as they left the bathhouse. "They have been known to do just such mischievous things, although I do not think they have yet been caught eavesdropping by the bathhouse. That does not mean they have not done it, mind you. It only means we have not caught them!"

"You like them?" Elanor asked. She was already feeling comfortable enough with her new friend to ask this question.

"Rúmil and Orophin? Of course, everyone does! They are such a pair of good-humored jokesters, they keep me giggling whenever I'm with them. And such flirts too! I find Orophin a little more serious than Rúmil, which I admit I find . . . agreeable. I like his sincerity. And he has such beautiful eyes!" She glanced at Elanor and lowered her voice. "One time I had climbed upon a chair for some reason, I cannot remember why now, but I almost fell, and Orophin caught me. And, oh my, Ellie, he was so very strong! I have never forgotten how it felt." She waved her hand in a fanning gesture near her cheeks and grinned in a way that invited Elanor to join in.

"I can imagine," Elanor said, thinking of Haldir's easy strength, which for some reason led to the memory of how he had tossed her over his shoulder last night and smacked her on the rear. Quickly, she returned her attention to Doria, hoping her friend did not notice the telltale blush on her cheeks.

"And he has such an earnest way of paying one compliments," Doria was saying. "Oh, I see Haldir coming this way. He must be looking for you."

Elanor glanced around, and actually felt her heart skip a beat as she watched his approach. His gait was so male, so elegant, so filled with self-assurance. His grey eyes did not hesitate to meet hers, though his face revealed no clue to his thoughts. She only prayed she would not blush and stammer when he spoke to her. She must be cool and calm like he was. Dispassionate and unemotional. Ha!

"Elanor," he said courteously as he came up to them, "and Doria. I saw the tunic, Doria. As always, it is a work of art, and I thank you."

"I am glad you like it," Doria told him modestly. "I did think it came out rather well."

"It did indeed. And I am glad to find you since I wish to place another order. Elanor needs more clothes. Three or four gowns, I think, as well as undergarments." He paused. "And a new cloak also." There was an undercurrent in that last statement that no one but Elanor would have heard. Was it amusement?

She glared at him. How dare he stand there and order clothing for her as though she had no voice or will of her own! Such arrogance! "Am I allowed to choose the colors?" she asked sweetly. "Or would you like to do that too?"

His eyes returned to her face. "No, you may see to that, Elanor."

Doria nodded. "I can take her measurements later. Do you want to take her now? I know she has been wanting you to show her Galadriel's garden."

Haldir's eyes shifted to Elanor's face. "Is that your wish?"

"If you have something else you would rather do," Elanor said, trying to match his stiffness, "I can certainly wait."

"I have nothing else to do at the moment," he replied. His tone now seemed magnanimous, as though he was doing her a huge favor. Or was she imagining this?

"I will take myself off then," Doria said happily, "and leave the two of you to enjoy the flowers. I will visit you later, Ellie!" The merry she-elf whisked away, somehow managing to look small and sweet despite her statuesque height.

"I see she has shown you the bathhouse," Haldir remarked. "You are, of course, perfectly free to use the bathing facilities in my talan."

Elanor did not reply, and an awkward silence ensued. Was he going to apologize for his behavior last night? Or was he going to pretend it had not happened?

Haldir took her by the elbow and guided her along the pathways, his strong, sure hand on her arm sending ripples of awareness through her body. He said nothing, which for some reason made her heart pound faster. Surely it would be better to talk it over? Anything was better than this unspoken tension. Did he not feel it too? She darted a quick, sideways glance at him, noting the lack of expression on his face. It was quite possible that he did not, that the tension was only in her mind and of her making. The thought was like a small punch in the stomach.

At last he broke the silence. "It was my intention to show you around the city myself," he remarked, his voice low and matter-of-fact. "I hoped you would wait for me."

"Perhaps I might have waited if you had mentioned it to me," she said tartly.

"Perhaps?" He slanted her a look. "It would be wise to remember that the majority of my wishes are not optional."

Elanor yanked her arm from his grasp. "I am surprised you are even able to walk around this morning after all your carousing!"

"I never carouse," he stated calmly. "Come, here is the entrance to the garden."

She bit her lip. He was so aloof, so unemotional, so detached. What a difference from the elf she had seen last night. Which was the real Haldir? She found that she wanted to argue with him, to provoke some kind of response that would break through that wall of reserve, but at the same time she was not sure if she should, or even if she could. Would it be better to emulate his icy demeanor? Exactly what was he expecting from her?

They passed under an ivy-covered archway, and emerged into another world, one filled with a heady scent that reached out to stun an unwary visitor. Everywhere Elanor looked there were spring flowers, flowering shrubs, and small flowering plants and even trees, pinks and reds, purples and whites, yellows and oranges. Many could not be native to Lothlórien, though others were, and some she recognized as quite familiar.

Haldir's hand once again closed around her upper arm. In another elf, it might have seemed a bit possessive, but she dismissed this thought as she gazed around, taking in the riot of color, the skillful arrangements, and the discreet little pathways and inviting bowers that might offer a tempting meeting place for lovers. Had he taken Healea into those little alcoves? She could not bear the disquieting thought, nor could she bear this dreadful tension any longer. She must think of a way to end it.

She stopped suddenly, seeing a circular flowerbed of elanor with an elegant birdbath positioned in its center. Memory washed over her, and with it came the answer. She glanced at him with shy determination. "This reminds me of Lord Elrond's garden. Do you remember it? You were looking at it on the night . . . on that night we met."

Haldir took in the golden star-shaped blooms of the elanor. "I remember clearly. It was not so long ago." He still appeared absolutely dispassionate, his face like carved marble. This was the March Warden, the elf who killed goblins and all manner of horrid creatures without hesitation or mercy. And how she yearned to see the warmth beneath the ice.

Gathering her nerve, she moved to stand directly in front of him. "I insulted you that night," she gazed bravely up into those piercing grey eyes, "and I apologize with complete sincerity. You did not deserve it. And I . . . I pulled your hair quite hard. You did not deserve that either."

His brows drew together, but his face lost some of its stiffness. "There is no need for this, Elanor. It is in the past. I do not dwell on it."

"Yes, there is a need," she pushed on, a flush creeping into her cheeks. She truly did wish to apologize, but it was also her intent to bring the memory of that kiss into his mind in not too obvious a manner. "Will you or will you not accept my apology? Please answer me."

He tilted his head, one corner of his mouth curling just a little. "Very well, Elanor, I accept your apology." He seemed to be studying her. "Was there something else you wished me to say?"

She was growing frustrated. Was he being deliberately obtuse? After his behavior last night, she thought it might occur to him what was in her mind, but he was clearly not getting the hint. She turned away for a moment to gather courage, then swung back to face him just as the sun came out from behind a cloud. It gilded his hair in a dazzling halo of silver fire, causing her heart to do a silly little flip. _Do it, Elanor!_

She had a last moment's debate within herself, then took a deep breath. "On that night, Haldir, you showed an interest in kissing me. You may kiss me now, if you like." Her heart hammering, she closed her eyes, lifted her lips, and waited.

Several seconds passed. Nothing happened.

She reopened her eyes. His mouth now curved into a tiny and rather disturbing smile. "Elanor," he said, "are you sure that is what you want?"

She could feel her blush deepening. "Do you think I would embarrass myself like this if I was not? I have no intention of begging, Haldir, so if you do not want to kiss me, just . . . just say so. Or else do it."

"It is not a question of what I want." His constrained tone suggested difficulties of which she was unaware. "You are very young, with limited experience, while I am—"

"Terribly old and wise and set in your ways," she interrupted. "What has that to do with anything? You did not seem concerned with that last night when you were practically on top of me."

There, she had brought it up, but instead of bringing matters into the open, it faded his smile and tightened his lips. "I do not think we should discuss last night," he said. "You should try to put it from your mind, Elanor, and I will do the same."

More humiliation to heap with all the rest. Wrong, she had been all wrong about what was happening between them, wrong to ask him to kiss her. Elanor, Elanor, when will you learn? Deflated and feeling extremely foolish, she spun blindly away from him, but his hand on her arm prevented her from going anywhere.

"Stay," he commanded. She stood still, her face averted, waiting while he came around and faced her. "You truly want me to kiss you?" This time his voice was softer, with a thread of silk in it. She quivered inside, unsure why she had done this, asked this of him. Where was her pride?

"Yes," she admitted, her heart thudding.

Without a word, he drew her into a shaded lilac arbor and gazed down at her. "No hair pulling now," he murmured. He slipped his arms around her waist and with a light pressure pulled her slowly toward him so that their bodies almost touched. His attention seemed so fixed on her that she almost stopped breathing. And then he lowered his mouth to hers.

His lips were warm and gentle, moving over hers almost with tenderness, just the way she had always dreamed a kiss would be, light as a summer breeze. But she also remembered the ardor of that other kiss in Elrond's garden, and that memory made her hunger for more. This was sweet, but it held nothing of the raw passion, none of the power and excitement and melting urgency that she had felt in him before. What was wrong?

Sensing that he was about to pull away, she slid her hands up his arms to his shoulders, enjoying the feel of him and seeking more than he had offered. She was not ready to let him go, not quite yet, not after last night, not after all the aching and yearning she had suffered. Twining her arms around his neck, her fingers drifting in the softness of his hair, she parted her lips and pressed closer, and again felt his hesitation. To her shock, he took hold of her wrists and removed her arms, forcing a distance between them. "Elanor, do not make this difficult. We must go no further with this."

"Why?" she asked in confusion. Was it because someone might pass by?

He gazed down at her, his breathing noticeably uneven. "Because you are my ward. I have sworn to protect you and teach you, and this is not what Elrond meant when he asked it of me."

His voice had gone flat again, and his words made no sense. Surely Elrond would not care if Haldir kissed her? Was this only some excuse to be rid of her?

"Do you wish to spend more time in the garden?" he asked, his tone almost formal.

"Y-yes," she stammered.

"I have things to attend to so I will leave you for now. If you are still here when I return, I will escort you wherever else you wish to go." And he turned and walked away without a word of farewell or a backward glance. Again.

Elanor stared after him, open-mouthed and filled with chagrin. It seemed as though he could not wait to take his leave of her. Had the kiss been so unpleasant for him that he had to run away immediately? She touched her lips with the tips of her fingers. Had she done something wrong? Had her aggressiveness put him off? Had he kissed her because he felt sorry for her? Then a new thought struck her. Had his memories of Healea in this setting had something to do with it?

Her heart sank as this new possibility bloomed in her mind. Perhaps his love for this other elleth still haunted him. Perhaps his heart would never be given to another. For a moment, she wanted to burst into tears.

Oh, sweet Elbereth, what was she thinking? Foolishness, Elanor! She was allowing herself to be beguiled by a physical attraction. Really, Elanor! Simply because he was pleasing to gaze upon did not mean she had to throw herself at him in this wanton fashion! What madness had prompted her to ask him to kiss her?

She dared not imagine what he must he think of her. After all, was she not the same maiden who had had him kidnapped and tied to her bed? It was a disgraceful thing to have done, childish and scandalous and shocking. How could he ever see her as anything other than the perpetrator of that shameful deed? Why would he want to kiss her? More likely he could not wait to be rid of her.

Severely depressed, she wandered among the flowers, inhaling their life-sustaining scent, touching their sweet petals in an effort to raise her spirits. She only partially succeeded, for a strange new loneliness held her in its grip. While she loved plants, right now she needed something more than they could offer. How could she earn Haldir's good opinion? Was that even possible?

She sat down on a grassy patch beside a cluster of bright yellow daffodils, and drew her knees up to her chin. A sudden urge to cry fluttered in her throat, but she would not give in to it. Then, abruptly, she knew someone was standing behind her.

Galadriel.

Elanor started to leap to her feet, but the Lady stayed her with a gesture. "Do not rise, child. I will sit beside you, if I may."

"Of course, my lady," Elanor replied, watching in awe as Galadriel lowered herself with effortless grace to the grass.

At first the Lady spoke of her garden, how much she delighted in it and how pleased she was that Elanor would be helping with its care. She spoke also of the varieties of plants and flowers growing there, and where they had come from, and which were her favorites, her musical voice soothing and restful. And then she grew still, her eyes on Elanor.

"Something troubles you," she said, a gentle look upon her beautiful, ageless face. "I can feel it. Would you like to speak of it?"

Elanor hesitated before replying. "I am confused," she admitted finally. "About Haldir. And about myself."

"Some things are meant to be and some are not," the Lady said calmly. "Those that are meant will make themselves known."

Elanor bit her lip "You are saying that what I am feeling is not meant to be?"

"Not at all, Elanor. I am saying that we are drawn to that which completes us, and it is futile to resist it. Each of us is already whole, yet we each yearn to become more whole, if that makes sense to you. We seek to expand our spirits to encompass a greater joy and a greater sense of who we wish to be. That is why we fall in love. It is very different from physical attraction, and yet it is very much a part of it."

Elanor swallowed. Fall in love? Where was this conversation headed? The Lady's ancient and knowing eyes seemed to invite more questions, but Elanor knew not what to ask.

As if she sensed this, Galadriel reached out to touch her cheek. "It is not the action but the intention that defines honor. Haldir knows this. He only needs to be reminded. Would you like some advice?"

"Please," Elanor whispered.

"Continue to be yourself with him. He values who you are, Elanor. Learn from him, and change only those aspects of yourself that will serve you best. His past is behind him and need not be feared. Let your feelings be your guide, for they can be far truer than thoughts."

"I am angry with him half the time," Elanor admitted.

"Ah, but are you truly angry? I think it is more a case of being frustrated with an elf who is far too used to having his own way. Of course he has earned that right within the boundaries of his powerful position. He is sometimes arrogant, yet his excellent qualities outweigh this, or he would not be Lothlórien's March Warden."

"He did not like my rearranging his clothes," Elanor said with a sigh. "Or the things in his kitchen. Or his furniture."

Galadriel gave a delighted laugh. "You did that? Good for you, Elanor. It is about time someone shook him up. No wonder he is behaving oddly."

"Oddly?" Elanor said, glancing up. "What do you mean?"

"I mean he is not himself. He is looking more disoriented than I have seen him in centuries. None of the others have succeeded in doing that."

"Oh." Elanor absorbed this. "Others?" she asked with difficulty.

Galadriel's eyes met hers. "Haldir is an attractive, unattached male with normal male urges. Many of our maidens find him irresistible, and I am sure he has established relationships. It remains to be seen what he will do while you are here. The very fact that he has installed you in his talan suggests much."

Elanor was beginning to wish the Lady would speak more frankly. Suggests much? Established relationships? She found she did not care for this last idea at all. But she would not ask about that.

"Do you mean there are other places I might have lived?" she said instead.

"Indeed. We have several empty talans, not to mention that there are single maidens who would have welcomed a temporary companion. Doria for instance."

"He told me I had to stay with him," Elanor said with a frown.

"He is your guardian for the year," Galadriel reminded her gently. "It is indeed up to him where you will live. If you wish to live elsewhere, you must discuss it with him. I will not intervene without a sound reason."

"I do not know if I wish to live elsewhere," Elanor replied. "I do not know what I want, nor do I have the least idea what _he_ wants." Except unquestioning obedience, and that he would not get, the big bully! In any case, how could she learn if she did not question?

The Lady smiled enigmatically. "At least give him obedience when he is being reasonable, Elanor. It is a fair compromise. Does he bully you all that much?"

Elanor's eyes widened. "You read my mind! Oh, I hope I did not give offense!"

Galadriel touched her hand. "You did not offend me, Elanor. Do you think I do not understand your feelings? You are lost and unsure, and the journey to Lórien was challenging for you. And Haldir is not making it any easier, is he?"

Elanor looked away, a lump tightening her throat. She pressed her lips together, trying to control the sudden tears that threatened to fall. "Why should he, my lady, after what I did to him? Did Lord Elrond tell you the details?"

Galadriel inclined her head. "He did."

"I do not wish others to know of it, my lady, not for my sake, but for his! Is that possible?"

"Discretion is always possible, Elanor. Celeborn and I will not speak of it, nor will Haldir's brothers. I do not think you need to worry. The Valar work in mysterious ways, my dear. This is a new beginning for you. Long have you put the needs of others before your own. Now it is time to put yourself first, to seek that which makes you complete."

Elanor lips trembled. "How can I do that when I must serve Haldir?"

"You must decide that for yourself. Haldir is not an easy elf to be with. His moods are often dark, and his responsibilities lie heavy on his shoulders. You must learn to understand him, and then you will understand why he behaves as he does."

Galadriel lifted Elanor's chin, forcing her to look directly into her crystal blue gaze. "You have given your sister too many years. Service to others is praiseworthy, but she did not value it. Now come, be as strong as I sense you are. You have a challenge ahead of you, and you will meet it."

Elanor blinked rapidly to stem her unshed tears. "I will try, my lady."

"That is all anyone can ask. Now then, has Haldir shown you where the gardening tools are kept?"

Elanor released a shaky laugh. "No," she admitted. "He was too busy running away from me. I think I frightened him."

"Now that is a sight I wish I could have seen," Galadriel declared.

Cheered by her conversation with Galadriel, Elanor explored the garden for a while on her own. She would not begin work immediately since she was wearing the finest of her three gowns, but neither was she going to stand around helplessly waiting for Haldir to return. He might have totally forgotten about her by now, despite what Doria had said about him never forgetting anything. And so she left the garden and, after only a few wrong turns, successfully made her way back to his talan.

Proud of herself, she paused inside the doorway, listening to see if he was there, but he was not. Intending to start at once on chores, she was instead drawn to the mirror, strangely compelled to gaze upon her own features, trying to see how Haldir might see her. She touched a finger to her lips, stroking gently over the surface in a vain attempt to recreate the velvet sensation of his kiss. As lacking in passion as it had been, it had still been wonderful and gentle. She had just wanted so much more.

Such feelings were so new to her that she could only shake her head with disbelief. That, combined with all that Galadriel had said, made Elanor's head reel. The Lady seemed so filled with wisdom, and she had said so much in so few words, but Elanor still had to puzzle out their meaning.

With a sigh and a shake of her head, she went and washed her hands and face, then debated what to do. Haldir's mending basket beckoned, and she knew she had to stop procrastinating. She was just so tired of mending; she had been doing Lana's mending for years and years. Lana was always so careless, constantly tearing her flounces and lace, or demanding small alterations or additions. Looking back, Elanor wondered why she simply had not told Lana to do it herself. She supposed it was because she had enjoyed feeling needed and necessary, and Lana had seemed grateful, at least at first. Eventually, though, Elanor had begun to feel unappreciated and resentful, and as a result her sewing had grown clumsy and poor in quality. Haldir might well regret asking her to do this, she reflected glumly.

The first item she picked up had a hole in the sleeve. Now how had he done this, she wondered in annoyance. How careless of him to have . . . Elanor stared at it closely. Haldir had not been careless. This was a cut. A slit in the cloth twice the length of her thumb. From a battle.

An ill feeling entered the pit of her stomach.

Elanor, Elanor, you wretched fool! How wrong, how misguided and naïve and stupid, to compare Haldir's needs with Lana's! Flooded with guilt, she stared at the dark fabric of the sleeve, picturing some horrid sword slicing through it and into Haldir's arm. The image of his blood brought the tears to her eyes.

Leaping to her feet, she began to search through the basket, examining each item of clothing to find the rents and tears and slashes. Happily, they were not all battle-related, but a few of them were, and one had apparently been improperly washed, for there was still blood on it. He certainly did need someone to take care of him, she thought with indignation. Beneath all that arrogance and coldness lurked an elf who could bleed, feel pain, and even die!

Anger came next. And where were all these fine ellith with whom he supposedly had 'established relationships'? Did they do nothing useful for him? What good were they? Obviously he needed someone practical and competent to see to such details as this. Someone like Elanor of Rivendell.

Oh, she was doing it again, getting all emotional! Still, she could not seem to help it. All the emotions of the past few days seemed to gather inside her and band together to form one great mass of confusion and pain and blind, utter need. She just sat there on the rug with his garments strewn all around her and burst into tears like an idiot.

Of course Haldir chose that moment to walk into the room. He stopped on the threshold, looking at her in astonishment, then shut the door and came quickly over to her. "Elanor, what is wrong? Have you injured yourself? Has someone hurt you?"

"N-no," she sobbed. "Not me. You!"

Bewilderment settled on his face. "I have hurt you? Or you think you have hurt me? I do not understand. Is this about what happened in the garden?" He had dropped down on one knee beside her, and was looking at her quizzically.

She shook her head and mutely held up the sleeve with the sword slice in it, displaying it to him with her fingers thrust through the hole.

He frowned. "Is it so difficult to repair? It does not have to be perfect, Elanor. If it is too hard for you—"

Elanor hiccupped. "It is not too difficult for me, Haldir! I am just . . . just . . . oh, do you not understand? A sword did this!"

"I am aware of that. It is nothing. Is this why you weep? You think I was hurt by this? It was a mere scratch." For once his voice held emotion, although to name the emotion would have been difficult.

She gestured toward the other garments. "It is not only that one, there are others. One still has blood on it! Your blood, Haldir!"

He lowered himself to the floor and slid an arm around her shoulders, drawing her close to his chest. "Elanor, are you fearful for me? Is that what this is about?"

She hiccupped again. "I suppose it is. Such things never seemed real to me before. You were right about everything you said. I am naïve and stupid and ignorant—"

"I never said you were stupid or ignorant," he corrected. "And to be naïve is not a fault. There is no cause to weep. What you see there, those cuts, they did not all happen in a week. None of them inflicted serious wounds. I am an experienced warrior, and I do not take unnecessary risks. Do not forget how long I have been doing this. Millennia, Elanor. Occasionally I take a scratch or two. It is nothing."

"It does not seem like nothing to me!" she protested with a sniff.

"That is because you know nothing about warfare. You are young and inexperienced and emotional."

She could hear the amusement in his voice, but decided not to take offense. She had been doing that too much of late. Besides, snuggling here against his chest was absolutely wonderful, and so comforting. She rubbed her cheek against the soft fabric of his tunic, inhaling his male scent with a soft sigh of contentment.

"It seems to me," she said, after another hiccup, "that all these ellith with whom you have established relationships are not seeing properly to your needs."

"What?" he said, sounding quite startled.

She angled her head so that she could see his face. "Your needs, Haldir. How could they let it build up like this? Why do they not take care of it?"

"Build up?" he repeated. Why was he looking at her so oddly?

"And I would think that all the other wardens must have the same needs as you, do they not?"

"Er, yes," he agreed, sounding a bit wary. "I am sure they do. Elanor, what are we talking about?"

"All this _mending,_" she said, frowning at him.

"Ah," he said, his face clearing of that peculiar expression. "_Those_ needs." He paused. "Who told you I had established relationships?"

"Galadriel said so. Is it not true?"

Haldir was silent for so long she thought he was not going to answer. "Yes, it is true. What else did she say?"

Elanor thought for a moment. "She said a great deal, actually. I do not think I will tell you everything she said. I am still trying to understand it." She closed her eyes, listening to his heart beat beneath her ear.

"You seem weary," he remarked. "Do you wish to rest?"

"No, I am fine," she assured him.

"Good," he answered, a smile in his voice. "Since you are interested in my needs, I will casually mention that I have not yet eaten today. So you may start preparing our dinner." He gave her a light smack on the side of her hip. "And that, Elanor, is not optional."

Elanor sighed. What a bully!

tbc


	10. Chapter Ten

**Chapter Ten**

Elanor scrubbed dirt from her hands, meticulously attending to the task while her mind drifted in a pleasant haze of contentment. She had just completed several peaceful hours of tending to Galadriel's garden, and was looking forward to meeting Doria at the bathhouse, which would be an agreeable indulgence after her morning's labors.

Returning to the front room of Haldir's talan, she went and straightened the cushions on the chairs, then paused in front of Haldir's weapons, still carefully set in the corner. She had done this each day for the past several days, gazing at them with fascination, at first just a glance, then lingering over them more and more. The great bow of the Galadhrim with its ornate carvings especially drew her eye.

The first time she had done this after she had found the cuts in his clothing, she had seen these weapons in the context of bloodshed and danger to Haldir himself. However, since then they had spent several evenings together, evenings in which she had asked him questions and he had answered. After she had listened to him tell story after story about the ingenuity, swiftness, and cunning of the Lothlórien elves, she had been able to view his weapons in a different light. She had also come to realize that a warden, any warden, needed to possess absolute faith in his own abilities, skills, and judgment. And that was something Haldir had in abundance.

They had spoken of many things these past few days—of her parents and his, of Lana, of his brothers, of gardening, of the history of his people and of Lothlórien. As for the latter, he had decided that her education needed enhancement, and so he had given her histories to read, going back to the first and second age. He had also spoken of happenings he remembered and those before his time with ease and in such a way that she could almost see them. And he did so succinctly, without embellishment, his rich, deep, wonderful voice conveying to her that he did indeed have much wisdom to share.

Yet always beneath the surface, tension simmered between them like a cauldron over a low fire, bubbling so gently that at times one could almost ignore it. Almost but not quite. And so at night, Elanor thought of him when she lay alone in the big bed, imagining what it would be like to have him there with her until the ache grew so great that she was forced to ease it in the soft darkness, imagining that it was his hands upon her body rather than her own. She wondered if he did the same, or if he went to one of his friendly ellith. She could not blame him if he did.

Pushing these thoughts from her mind, she focused her attention on his bow. It was tall and elegant and beautifully wrought, a fitting weapon for the Captain of the Galadhrim. Was it only her imagination, or did the great black bow possess a kind of arrogance? Or was it only supreme self-confidence? Either way, it reminded her of Haldir. It was like an extension of him, and in battle it indeed became so, one with his eyes and his arm, his strong back and legs. It was a potent, yet graceful image.

For the first time since she had handed over Haldir's bow to Rúmil, Elanor reached out and touched it, tracing her fingers over its dark, graceful wood. Unable to resist its call any longer, she picked it up, wrapping her fingers around the center portion exactly where his hand would be when he used it. The power of the weapon filled her with a longing that was almost sensual, a longing to learn something new, something physical. Other ellith used such weapons, she knew they did. Could she learn to wield such a weapon as this?

Balancing it carefully, its end on the floor, she reached down and withdrew an arrow from his quiver. She studied it for a moment, then, frowning slightly, she nocked the arrow and lifted the bow, attempting to hold it steady. She had seen the target practice area, watched various elves honing their skills. Imitating what she had seen, she placed her fingers on the string and tried to pull it back, but between the weight of the wood and the tightness of the string, she could barely budge it.

It irked her to realize how weak she was, but what had she ever done to increase her strength? Gardening, sewing, cooking and cleaning did not build muscles.

Still, it pleased her to pretend for a moment that she, Elanor of Rivendell, was an archer of consummate skill. She pointed the arrow at her target, the center of the carved front door to the talan. Her eyes narrowed, she drew the string back as far as she could—which was almost not at all—and aimed . . .

And the door swung open.

Was it the will of the Valar that he should always come in just when she wished he would not?

Haldir froze, staring at her, then burst out laughing. "It doesn't work unless you pull the string back, Elanor." Still grinning, he closed the door and faced her, his hands raised in mock surrender.

It was the first time she had heard him laugh, and it was a lovely sound, rich and deep and so infectious that she could not help but join in.

"It is pulled back as far as I can manage," she said, trying to look dignified while laughing. "I think it is enough to do the job."

"Well, then," he said, "are you going to shoot me?" He started to walk toward her, a lazy and very attractive smile curving his lips.

"Not if you behave yourself," she teased. "You may go no further, March Warden. Oh, you never listen to me, do you?"

He stopped directly in front of her, his fists set upon his lean hips. "Would you like archery lessons?" His expression changed to one of speculation.

Elanor lowered the bow so that the end rested on the floor, excitement flaring through her like a strong current. Then her face fell. "Oh, but . . . how can I? I am not strong enough to pull the string." She knew her frustration came through in her voice.

He studied her with that piercing gaze as though to assess if her interest was true. "I would not have you start with a bow like mine. You would use a training bow. Your strength would increase over time."

A small thrill ran through her that he was taking her seriously, and had not mocked her for her interest or her weakness. "Oh," she breathed. "That would be marvelous. Yes, I would like that very much."

"We could begin today, if you like. It would be good for you. Not only will it increase your strength, but it will teach you discipline, patience, and self-restraint." He was looking at her as though she were a prospective student, evaluating her in ways she could only guess.

"I would like that very much," she admitted. Awkwardly, she added, "I know I have many faults and flaws."

"None of us are perfect, Elanor. When I was your age, I was . . . insufferable." He noted the small smile quivering at the corners of her lips. "And according to many," he added with self-deprecating humor, "I still am. I have time now if you are ready."

"Could it be later? I agreed to meet Doria at the bathhouse, and I know she is waiting for me even now," she added, fraught with an unexpected shyness she did not understand.

He nodded. "Later is acceptable. And while I have no objection to your using the bathhouse, I will reiterate that you are free to use the bathing facilities in our talan."

Our talan. The simple words fluttered her heart. "Oh, I do," she assured him, pretending she had not noticed. "When you are not here, Haldir."

"Ah." That single syllable held a wealth of satisfaction she did not understand.

He removed the bow and the arrow from her hands, glanced at the arrow, then returned it carefully to his quiver. "Come to the archery range when you are ready. I will be there."

In answer, she inclined her head and put her hand on her heart in the elven gesture of respect. It was the first time she had done this for him, and as she lifted her head, she caught his look of surprise. In truth, she had surprised herself.

She walked away from him, eager to make her escape before she said or did something to ruin what suddenly seemed to be an important moment.

When she was gone, Haldir settled into his favorite chair and pulled off his boots, then set his feet on the other chair—the one he was starting to think of as Elanor's. Each evening they sat here together quite peacefully, talking of all manner of things, having scarcely any open conflicts at all. It was almost too good to be true, he reflected indolently. Something was bound to change.

Her reaction to his damaged tunics had stunned him. It had been a long while since any of the ellith he knew expressed concern for his well-being, and he had always assumed it was because they had faith in his ability to protect himself. He was a proven warrior. The few times he had been injured had been mere nothings in his mind. He had never spoken of them, nor asked anyone other than one of his brothers to tend to them. Even Healea had never expressed concern. Not once. If she had, he would remember.

Yet he had found Elanor sobbing over a cut in his tunic! That was the moment he started to doubt his ability to maintain his aloofness with her, the dispassion that would be necessary to be her guardian and teacher. If it was only a sexual attraction, well, there were ways to deal with that, but it was more. His heart was deeply and profoundly touched; she actually seemed to care about him and, although he had to admit that he was pleased—extremely pleased, in fact—it also complicated everything. He had hoped that it would happen during the course of their year together, but so swiftly and so soon?

It had all seemed so simple back when he had stood in Elrond's house. At the time he had been eager to accept Elanor as his ward, intrigued and tempted by the prospect of having her near him. She would do as he commanded, learn from him, respect his wisdom and teachings, and pay off her debt to him with her service. Their time together would at the very least lead to a mutual and agreeable understanding that would be beneficial to them both. At best, if he were so inclined at the end of the year, he might pursue his interest in her to the next level. A physical relationship. Or a courtship. Or both.

It had seemed no more complicated than that. A golden opportunity, a gift from the Valar, perhaps a reward for his long and devoted service to his people. He had not anticipated how fascinated he would become, nor the way that he would ache to hold her and touch her and possess her in the fullest and most satisfying way. In all his long years, he had never met anyone who disrupted the even flow of his life, the serenity of his mind, and the firm control he held over his actions and responses the way Elanor was doing.

And now he would be teaching her archery. At least he would be on familiar ground with that. There could be no surprises, no unexpected emotions, no duress, no conflicts. Just nice, easy archery lessons with a complete novice. A novice whose nearness wrecked havoc with his peace of mind. A novice whose nearness caused his loins to heat in a way that had not happened since he was a young elf embarking on his first sexual adventures. A novice he could not get out of his mind no matter what time of the day or night it was. A novice who assaulted his senses simply by glancing at him with those lovely blue eyes fringed by those dark, dark lashes. He heaved a very deep sigh.

Nice, easy archery lessons with Elanor. What could go wrong?

Doria had kindly arranged for Tarwë, Nerwen, and Gwirith to meet them at the bathhouse, and when Elanor arrived, the others were already there. Elanor disrobed quickly and hung her gown and chemise on one of the hooks along the side, then stepped into the spell-heated, sweetly scented water with a smile for all her new friends. Just as in Rivendell, cunning little gates allowed the entrance and exit of water so that it was always possible to freshen the pool, while the soaps and lotions were so masterfully created that they marred none of the clarity and purity of the water, nor disrupted the harmonious balance between the elves and their environment.

Talk commenced immediately, and just as before, it centered on male elves. "So, Doria," Gwirith inquired, "when will Orophin be returning from the border?"

Doria grinned. "How should I know? He does not talk to me."

"He's such a shy one," Tarwë said with a laugh.

Elanor looked from one to another of them. "Orophin? Shy? I did not have that impression."

"He is shy with Doria," Tarwë informed her. "He will not order tunics from her, but goes to other seamstresses."

"For years she thought he did not like her," Nerwen added, "but we are starting to think otherwise. Ever since a certain 'incident' last year."

Elanor lifted her brows at Doria. "Incident? Doria, what did Orophin do?"

Doria blushed, her quick grin flashing once more. "Oh, I cannot tell her! I am too embarrassed."

Nerwen laughed. "Orophin got very drunk one night at one of their little warden parties. He collapsed on the steps outside Doria's talan and sang a very loud serenade to her. He was still singing when Haldir came and carried him away. The poor elf could not even walk."

"It was just a coincidence that he was near my talan," Doria corrected. "He never said my name. Not once. I think he just happened to fall there, and was thinking of someone else."

Nerwen made a dismissive sound.

"It was not on his way home," Gwirith pointed out. "Your talan is nowhere near his. He likes you, Doria. It is why he does not flirt with you like he does with us. He is afraid."

"Afraid? Of me?" Doria rolled her eyes. "I think not! Orophin fears nothing."

"They are always like that when they are serious," Nerwen said. "And I can understand that because . . . well, I just can, that is all. Have you noticed how Rúmil treats you, Doria? He is more deferential than he used to be. He knows his brother's mind, mark my words. Those two have no secrets from each other."

Doria clapped her hands to her cheeks. "Oh, I do wish you would not tease me so! It makes me think such thoughts!"

"Such as?" Tarwë asked playfully.

"Such as strong arms and soft sheets," Gwirith filled in. "And muscles, ladies. And kisses, kisses, and more!"

"Delicious thoughts," Tarwë added with a secret smile. "You must entice him carefully, Doria. Perhaps an opportunity will present itself at the next festival."

"Oh, my!" Doria covered her eyes. "No, no, I shall not think of it. I am convinced this is all nothing more than fabrication and wishful thinking. You must not tease me like this." Nerwen reached over and patted Doria's shoulder.

"What of you, Ellie?" Gwirith asked. "Do you have a lover back in Rivendell? We would love to hear about him."

They all looked at her expectantly, and Elanor blushed. "No," she said. "I have never had a lover."

"Never?" Tarwë echoed in astonishment. "You mean never as in . . . never?"

"No, I never have," Elanor admitted. It was odd to be able to confess this to these new friends, when she had never spoken of it before. "I have been kissed, of course," she added quickly, and rather defiantly.

"I took my first lover over three hundred years ago," Tarwë said, "and I have never regretted it. I advise you to look around while you are here. We have some lovely males who are very kind and very skilled in the art of love. And it is good to have the companionship."

"Don't embarrass her, Tarwë," Nerwen admonished. "Perhaps she is merely waiting for someone special."

"Rúmil is free and usually willing," Gwirith suggested. "He is also sweet and very, very able. I will say no more than that."

"How she brags," Tarwë said with a laugh. Her smile faded as she added more seriously, "Well, Ellie, what about the obvious? Haldir. I've heard he can be a wonderful companion."

Elanor nearly swallowed her tongue. "Oh, no," she protested, after a few breathless moments. "I am Haldir's ward."

Tarwë gazed at her, but only said, "Well, you will want a lover eventually. You do not know what you are missing. If you found someone here, perhaps you might choose to stay in Lothlórien instead of going back to Rivendell."

"My brother thinks Ellie is quite lovely," Doria put in innocently.

"Of course he does," Nerwen said dryly. "And she is. But she would do well to stay away from your brother. Lurien will offer her no more than a satisfying romp, which is not the best first time experience for a virgin. No offense intended to either you or Ellie."

"And none is taken," Doria answered. "He's my brother and I love him, so all I ask is that none of you hurt him. And that's as much as I will say."

Nerwen shrugged. "It's hard enough for our Tarwë. She put her name on Lurien years ago. Unfortunately, he cannot seem to read it."

Tarwë stuck out her tongue. "Give me time, my friends. Each year that passes, I gain another toehold. He is not an easy elf to ensnare."

"Healea did it," Gwirith pointed out, "and she ensnared Haldir too. What a tangle that was to straighten out. And in the end she chose Cothion!"

"No one ensnares Haldir," Tarwë corrected. "He chose her, not the reverse."

Nerwen held up her hand, as if to silence them all. "Poor Ellie will think we do nothing but talk about the males and give unsolicited advice," she scolded with a smile.

"Well, what else do we do?" Gwirith asked. "I admit we do not have intellectual conversations like Healea with all her vast knowledge of languages and history."

"Nor do I wish to," Tarwë said tartly. "How very dull it sounds. Oh, Ellie, have you met Nerwen's brother? He is one of Haldir's wardens. His name is Beredain. He has lovely broad shoulders much like Haldir's. You might like him."

Elanor said that she had not, and then fell silent as the conversation drifted into other channels, then halted abruptly when the curtain shifted and was thrust aside. Elanor turned her head enough to see that three new ellith had entered the bathhouse, none of them familiar to her.

"Hello, Healea," Nerwen said. "And Arnis and Túre."

Every muscle in Elanor's body tensed. She had not realized until this moment how much she had dreaded this meeting. She could not see them now, for they had moved around behind her, but she could hear the rustle of their clothing as they disrobed. They said nothing to her, although they must know who she was, for her dark hair betrayed her identity in this land of blondes.

When the three ellith stepped into the water, Elanor knew without being told which one was Healea. She was, of course, utterly beautiful. If one took Lana's golden beauty and combined it with the dark allure and grace of Arwen Evenstar, this would be Healea. She was tall, taller than Elanor certainly, with the flawless elegance of one of the statues adorning Lord Elrond's splendid terraces and courtyards. Haldir had loved and lost and fought over this stunning creature, and the knowledge shriveled every particle of Elanor's burgeoning self-confidence, reducing it to instant ashes in the dust.

It was Nerwen who introduced them to Elanor. Healea gave Elanor a gracious look and inclined her head, but seemed to look through her rather than at her. The other two merely nodded a greeting. All three seemed reserved compared to Doria and the others.

"So you are Elanor," Healea said with a slight lift of her perfectly arched brows. "How do you find our fair city? I trust it meets with your approval?"

Elanor thought she didn't sound very interested in Elanor's opinion so she kept her reply brief and unrevealing. Healea then turned to her companions and commented on something else entirely, as though to imply that she had given Elanor enough of her time.

For awhile the conversation revolved around Healea and her doings. Elanor learned that Healea had spent the majority of her life creating books for Lord Celeborn's library, translating writings made in Quenya, the tongue of the high elves of Valinor, into the more familiar Sindarin. She even spoke the common tongue, and had translated texts taken from the world of Men.

Elanor had never felt so ignorant. No wonder Haldir had given her histories to read; he must think her lacking in the most rudimentary knowledge as well as common sense. He truly must see her as little more than a child. Her thoughts drifted to her upcoming archery lesson. Would she make a fool of herself there too?

"So what is this dreadful deed you committed that warranted you being made Haldir's ward?" It was not Healea who spoke, but one of her confidantes, the one called Arnis. She was a haughty looking elleth with regular features and a delicate, rather pouty mouth.

Elanor's stomach clenched. Thus far no one in Lórien had dared or been impolite enough to ask her that question, point-blank, and she had no ready answer prepared. She saw Healea's liquid blue gaze transfer to her face with a gleam of interest. The goddess and her attendants awaited Elanor's response with apparent tranquility.

Elanor considered and discarded several possible replies. "I offended him," she said finally, in a careful tone.

Healea raised her brows again, her flawless face revealing no change in expression. "You must have offended him most gravely to be forced to atone for it in such a way," she remarked, her tone devoid of inflection. "Few dare to insult Haldir."

They were all staring at her, as if expecting her to elaborate, but she would rather be eaten alive by goblins than tell them what she had done. She would never reveal it, never! If Haldir's people learned the truth, he could lose respect, and he did not deserve that even if she did. Why, oh why, had she ever done what she had done? And why had Telrion and Minden allowed it? Did they have no common sense either? Say something, Elanor. Say something intelligent and sensible.

Ignoring Arnis and Túre, Elanor took a deep breath and locked eyes with Healea. "I am here to repay Haldir for my insult, not to insult him all over again with my gossip. As his ward, I owe him my loyalty, as do all who reside in Lórien. He devotes his life to protect his people and deserves their respect." Her heart was thudding hard, but she felt she had made the proper response.

"Very true," Nerwen put in hastily, "and well spoken, Ellie."

"Really, Healea," Tarwë said with a frown, "whatever happened between Ellie and Haldir is no one's concern but theirs."

"But of course," Healea agreed. "Did I suggest otherwise?"

"Where are you sleeping?" Túre inquired, very sweetly. "I understand you are staying in the March Warden's talan?"

"I am sleeping in his bed," Elanor replied in a steely voice. "And he sleeps on a cot on the terrace, in case you are wondering that too."

Healea lifted a hand. "Enough, Túre. Elanor may be Haldir's ward, but she is still a guest and we are being rude. Forgive us, please." Healea's composure was not noticeably ruffled. She smiled slightly and leaned back against the outer edge of the pool, tilting her body so that her dusky-tipped breasts rose above the surface of the water. They were as perfect as the rest of her, though not as full as Elanor's own.

"Do not be frightened of Haldir," Healea went on, her manner somewhat less aloof. "He can be intimidating and overbearing, but beneath all the crustiness lies an elf with a good and loyal heart. We never meant him or you the slightest disrespect. You misunderstood us."

Elanor eyed her warily, unsure whether to take her words at face value. "Yes, he does have a good heart," she said. "He is very kind."

"You cannot blame us for being curious," Healea added with a gentle smile.

"And you cannot blame me for being discreet," Elanor returned.

Healea's eyes glinted. "Indeed. And for that I commend you."

Elanor was struck with the sudden and uneasy feeling that all this had been a test of some sort. Had she passed muster? If Healea's words were anything to go by, it appeared she had. Perhaps Healea was not the adversary that she had first seemed.

"Tell us of Rivendell," Arnis prodded. "Are all the males dark of hair?"

Elanor answered as best she could, while suffering Healea's continued scrutiny. And then she knew it was time to leave, for she had kept Haldir waiting long enough. She could feel Healea's eyes on her body as she and her friends climbed out of the pool and availed themselves of the drying clothes. Elanor took one of the combs from a nearby basket and ran it quickly through her hair, soothed by a sunny smile and an expressive nudge from Doria, who was doing the same.

"It was good to meet you, Elanor." Healea's low voice sounded sincere. "I would enjoy visiting with you again one day soon."

Elanor nodded shortly. "Of course, Healea. You can find me in the Lady's garden most mornings, if you like. I have been asked to tend it as I have gardening skills."

Healea returned the nod. "Then I shall look for you there."

Haldir heard the murmurs of his wardens before he saw her. He turned his head and leaned casually against the trunk of a small tree, watching her as she crossed the field, her dark hair spreading over the lovely shoulders he remembered all too well. He could see that she was nervous, although she was trying to hide it, and he was conscious of a powerful urge to reassure her by whatever means it took.

He knew she could not know how it stirred him to watch her, nor how it excited him that she had shown an interest in archery. He wished he could kiss her again, very deeply and very passionately, right now before they started her lesson. However, so long had he hidden his emotions from others that he effortlessly kept his face in its usual expressionless mask. She would never guess he had such thoughts.

Nor would she guess how guilty he had been feeling since he had walked away from her that day in the garden. He had been so astonished, overwhelmed really, by her request that he kiss her. In another maiden, he might have seen it as a bold, manipulative move designed to stimulate his interest, but in Elanor, he knew it had been made in innocence. He had thought about it many times since then. He could not have denied her, that would have been wrong and dishonorable, and he would have despised himself. And yet to have gone further, to have given in to what he wanted—indeed, what she had wanted—would have been wrong too.

To add to this, he knew he had hurt her by ending it the way he had, and for that knowledge he suffered. Walking away from her had been so difficult, when every fiber of his being had wanted to deepen the kiss, to press against her, to hear her moan with the pleasure he knew he could give her . . .

He pushed the thought rapidly away before it had its usual effect on him. That was one source of discomfort he did not need right now.

He straightened when she reached him, and bowed slightly, his offer of respect to her that would send a signal to his watching wardens.

"I hope I did not keep you waiting, Haldir." She gazed up at him, her lovely lips pressed together and her brow slightly creased. He sensed that she was far more nervous than he had expected based on her earlier enthusiasm. Had something happened to put new uncertainties in her mind? It seemed unlikely, for she had only been with Doria, who would have said nothing to decrease Elanor's self-confidence. Perhaps it was only his imagination.

"No, you did not." He allowed his face to relax into a smile of reassurance, and handed her a small bow. It was a third the size of his in length and was in truth a child's bow, but he would not hurt her dignity by telling her that. When she could control this one, he would give her a true training bow. It should not take long before she was ready.

Elanor accepted the bow, feeling the warmth and smoothness of the wood, relieved that it was so light compared to his. She'd been trying to picture what a training bow would be like, worried that it might be more than she could manage. She glanced up at him when he touched her elbow.

"Come," he said, "I will show you how to start. You must learn the proper stance before you even touch an arrow."

"Proper stance?" Elanor echoed, then felt idiotic. Why did she repeat his words? Naturally it would be important to stand properly, she had known that.

But he did not seem to notice. "How you stand is as important as how you release the arrow. It is part of a whole. When done properly, the fit is perfect."

Elanor swallowed, wishing that there were no bystanders. Then she noticed the target and grimaced. "I have to hit that?" she said in a small voice. It seemed so far away.

Haldir glanced at the target, then back at her face. "Yes, Elanor, and you will. I have no doubts and neither must you."

No doubts? She certainly did have doubts! She took a deep breath, and was startled when Haldir moved close behind her and set a hand on her shoulder. "What eye do you see best with? Left or right?"

"I have no idea," she said. "Both my eyes are the same."

Haldir smiled indulgently, and removed the bow from her hands. "On the contrary, Elanor, that would be very rare. Most likely you will have one dominant eye. Hold up your hands, palms facing the target, and let your thumbs touch. Yes, that's it. Now position the target in the middle of the gap between your hands. Whichever eye places the target in the center is your dominant eye."

Elanor squeezed shut first one eye and then the other, and found that he was right. "Oh, I understand. My left eye is my dominant eye." She lowered her arms and looked at him anxiously. "Is that good?"

"It matters not which eye is dominant. It only matters that you know which one it is when you are sighting down the shaft. Now, I will show you how to stand." She adjusted her feet and body as he directed, then almost gasped when his arms came around her in a near embrace as he positioned the bow within her grasp. His warm fingers overlapping hers, he pulled the string until her fingers—and his—brushed her cheek.

"You must pull the bow back the same way each time, Elanor. Mark a position in your mind where your fingers lie. To shoot accurately you must be able to do this without thought. Now practice what you have learned a few times without the arrow. I will watch you." He stepped away.

Elanor stared at the target, and pulled back the bowstring. Without Haldir's strength, she had to pull much harder than she expected, and her hand wavered. She glanced at Haldir, but he merely looked at her, then motioned for her to try again. This time she focused on the movement, trying to remember how he had shown her. It didn't feel the same. Several more tries, and then he moved close, and made a slight adjustment to her fingers.

"Remember, it should feel as natural as combing your hair. No thought."

Elanor repeated the lesson several more time until Haldir told her to stop. He then drew an arrow from the quiver on his back and handed her the shaft. She nocked it and began to draw back on the string only to watch in horror as the arrow flew off before she was ready. Behind them, a few chuckles reminded her about the onlookers. She felt herself turning red.

She peeped up at Haldir, but his face displayed no amusement, only patience and composure. He handed her another arrow, and this time she pulled back more carefully. He stepped close again, his arms wrapped around her, adjusting her hold on the arrow.

"You must learn to ignore what lies around you," he murmured in her ear. "You cannot allow yourself to be distracted. Each person has the ability to learn, Elanor. You must seek what is inside you. I have seen and felt the natural ability you carry in your hands. This should not be hard for you."

Elanor trembled slightly. Not be distracted? With his arms wrapped around her? With his face so close that his breath whispered across her cheek?

"Feel the arrow, Elanor," he whispered, "close your eyes and sense it. See the target in your mind. The arrow and target are like husband and wife, each seeks completion with the other. I know you can do this. All you have to do is accept."

She shut her eyes, her heart hammering hard in her chest. She could feel the rigidity of the arrow and the bite of the string beneath the pads of her fingers. She reopened her eyes when she felt him step away. She could do this. And she would.

Slowly, steadily, she drew back on the string and let loose the arrow. To her astonishment, it flew straight and embedded into the target. It was not perfect, and in fact nearly missed it altogether, but it _was_ there, and still quivering!

"I did it!" Her eyes wide with surprise, she glanced joyfully at Haldir, wondering if it was good enough to meet with his approval.

Haldir nodded. "Well done, Elanor. To hit the target your first time is an impressive accomplishment." He looked over her head toward the elves who had gathered behind her, that single glance enough to cause most of them to drift away.

"You must practice each day. An hour, Elanor. I will expect it." He unbuckled his quiver and set it on the ground beside her.

She smiled slightly. "Another command, Haldir?"

"Not a command," he conceded. "It is your choice. You expressed interest, and I have shown you what you must do. It is up to you to further your skills. And when I am not here, Rúmil or Orophin can assist you. But you must ask when you require help. Do not expect people to read your mind. Agreed?"

Elanor studied the bow in her hand, suddenly wanting very much to prove to him that she could do this. She _would_ learn, and do it well.

She lifted her chin. "Agreed." Once more, she touched her hand to her heart. "I will try my best," she added honestly.

Haldir walked away, leaving her to practice on her own while he spoke with Beredain, who had lingered when the others left. With each day that passed, Haldir was realizing more and more that he needed to distance himself from Elanor, if only for the sake of his sanity. The past few evenings with her had been delightful, but he had spent the nights in a fiery agony of longing that he did not wish to recall. So why did he not simply move her into another talan?

Each time he considered this, he found himself strangely reluctant. He had told himself that none of the vacant ones were anywhere near him. He had told himself that she was his ward and it was his right to keep her with him if he wished. And he also told himself he was a fool. And still he did not move her out.

"You think that clumsy ward of yours can learn to handle a bow?" Beredain jested, his arms folded across his chest. "She's already dropped the arrow twice since you left her side."

"Elanor is not clumsy," Haldir said curtly.

"If you say so." Beredain nudged his arm. "I suppose you should know, having spent so much time with her. But not gainful time, by the look of it."

"And what does that mean?" Haldir said, a tinge of ice in his tone.

"It means you radiate discontent. Or perhaps I should say frustration."

Dismayed, Haldir searched his mind for what he could have done to betray himself. "I did not think it was so evident."

"Well, it is," Beredain replied. "To me, at least, but then I have known you for a thousand years. She lacks the interest?" he added curiously.

"Have you nothing better to do than quiz me?" Haldir's tone had an ominous quality that Beredain failed to heed.

"Not at the moment. Perhaps this might be a good time for me to make fair Elanor's acquaintance. I might even succeed where you have failed. I have not had a dark-haired elleth underneath me since-"

Haldir gripped the front of his tunic so fast that Beredain's breath was cut off. "Watch yourself," he said, his voice low and furious. "My friendship does not extend so far as you might think. Elanor is my ward and under my protection. Take care how you speak of her."

"Peace," Beredain croaked. "I meant no disrespect. I have no wish to fight you over this."

Haldir released him, shocked by his own sudden loss of control. He had shocked Beredain too, he knew. What was happening to him?

Without meaning to, his gaze strayed back to Elanor. She was trying so hard to hit the target, but other than that one time, she had not done so. Even so, he could see determination in the set of her shoulders and in her stance, which continued to be correct. He could hardly drag his eyes away from watching her. Emotion swept through him—quick, rousing, nameless . . . and powerful.

Yes, the sooner he left for the border, the better it would be. Once he was away from her, he would be able to analyze the situation and put it all into proper perspective. Time spent alone, performing his duty, would cure him of what was likely no more than an infatuation. If not, he would deal with that accordingly when he was more in control of himself, his wayward thoughts, and the powerful yearnings of his body for hers.

Perhaps when he returned he would be ready to move her to another talan.

Perhaps.

tbc


	11. Chapter Eleven

Hello again, and thanks for your reviews! It is nice to get them. We are working hard on this story. :) hugs from J & F

**Chapter Eleven**

In the end, Elanor's first day of archery was less enthralling than she expected, as dreams of achievement faded with each shot she took. At first she was extremely aware that Haldir stood nearby talking with the other elf, and the knowledge that he was behind her, perhaps watching her, had its effect. Not only did she fumble and drop arrows, she nearly dropped the bow once. And she was not hitting the target. Once he came over and adjusted the way she was standing, then he informed her that he was leaving. The other elf soon followed, and she was alone. Even then, she failed to hit the target.

On the second day, she fared no better. Haldir told her she was doing well and to be patient. An hour a day, he said. And left her on her own. She did not hit the target at all that day.

On the third day of her practice, she stubbornly decided not to leave until she hit the target once. Just once, to prove to herself that she could do it. Haldir had not come with her, and what few elves were there had tactfully left her on her own.

More than three hours later, an arrow finally embedded itself into the target, to Elanor's enormous relief. Exhausted, she went and collected the arrows for what seemed like the hundredth time, stowed them carefully in Haldir's quiver, and slung it over her shoulder. The shadows had grown long, and she suddenly realized that she should have started dinner long ago. She hoped Haldir would not mind eating late.

Elanor followed the deserted path away from the open field of the archery range and back under the shade of the great mellryn trees. Her back, arms and shoulders ached in a way that they had never done before, and Haldir's quiver felt far heavier than usual. But at least she had hit the target, although at this point her elation was subdued. Haldir had said she had skill in her hands, but if so, it was not manifesting itself.

"Good evening, Elanor." She heard the deep, sensual voice before she saw the golden-haired elf step out of the shadows. It was Lurien, and once again she was struck almost speechless by his devastating beauty.

Elanor nodded politely, pain shooting through the muscles of her neck. "Good evening, Lurien." Out of respect for Doria, she felt an obligation to be cordial to her brother, though she remembered the warnings as well as the uneasy feeling he had given her before.

As before, Lurien stepped directly in front of her to block her path. "I've been hoping to see you again. I wanted to thank you."

"Thank me?" Elanor echoed in surprise.

"For giving my sister the pleasure of your friendship," he said simply. "She speaks very highly of you."

"I find much pleasure in Doria's company as well," Elanor replied. "Please give her my regards." She tried to step past him, but again he prevented it.

"Stay for a moment. Do I frighten you?"

Elanor gave him a brief, assessing glance—he was tall and broad, and with the fading light glowing behind him, he did look dangerous, though of course she was not afraid. Only a trifle nervous due to all the warnings she'd been given.

"I truly mean you no harm," he said, as if he had read her thoughts. "I merely seek a chance to make your acquaintance."

Elanor elevated her chin, unconsciously trying to imitate Haldir, and spoke with what she believed to be dismissive politeness. "No, you do not frighten me, Lurien. But I am weary right now."

His faint smile told her that he was not put off, and his eyes moved from her face to the bow and quiver. "Yes, I see you have been learning a new skill," he observed, his exquisite lips curving. "I find that most admirable. But I wonder if your heart is in it."

"My heart?" she echoed him again, drawn to respond in spite of herself.

"Yes, your heart, lovely one." His sapphire gaze seared her as it roved over her features. "Shall I be plain? I am wondering whether Haldir is forcing you to learn this skill. It would be so like him."

Elanor gave him a cool look. "Haldir forces me to do nothing I do not wish to do."

"Oh, come," Lurien said with a soft laugh. "You are his ward, Elanor. He can make you do whatever he wishes, and he is a stern taskmaster." He shifted closer to her. "As one who knows him well, I would offer you the protection of my friendship. If ever you need advice, feel free to come to me . . . as a friend. I know you ladies talk much amongst yourselves, but there are times when the advice of a male can be a great advantage."

Elanor briefly considered what seemed to be a solicitous offer. "I thank you, Lurien, but I do not foresee such a need," she replied after a moment's hesitation. "If I require advice, I think it is best if I go to Haldir or one of his brothers."

Lurien made a slight, rather ironic bow, his hair spilling over his shoulders like a waterfall of gold. "My offer stands. You may have heard that Haldir and I are not the best of friends, and he may have warned you against me." He paused. "It is true that we had a falling out many years ago, and it is true that he does not like me. Just remember, my dear, that you are his ward, not his possession."

"I need no reminder of that," she said with a trace of irritation. She shifted the quiver where its weight dug into her shoulder, and wished he would let her pass.

"I do hope that you and I can be friends, Elanor." His eyes captured hers, and she suddenly found she did not want to look way.

She could feel the seductive pull, as though he could plumb the depths of her soul at a glance. In that spellbinding gaze she saw an admiration and respect that caressed her wounds and lack of self-confidence, a balm to hurts she didn't even know she had. She took a step forward, drowning in a rapturous blue sea, knowing only that he saw her as the most beautiful maiden that ever lived and that nothing else mattered. It was intoxicating and astonishing and . . . unreal . . .

With amazing difficulty, she tore her eyes free from his, frowning as she tried to recall what he'd been saying. Something about friendship.

"I suppose we can be friends," she said vaguely.

"If Haldir allows it, of course," Lurien added with a small laugh. "You must defer to him on such things, I am sure."

Elanor put a hand to her brow, feeling slightly lightheaded. "Haldir has no say in it. I choose my own friends."

"Good," he purred, his smile slight. "I am glad to hear it. Haldir has enough sycophants already."

"I must go now. I bid you goodbye, Lurien," she said, still with courtesy although she could barely think. This time he stepped aside, and she hurried away from him as swiftly as she could. She shivered, realizing that for a mindless moment, she had felt drawn to him for no reason that she could remember or discern. In the future, she would be sure to be on her guard. Lurien did indeed have some kind of power. She had felt it.

Elanor reached the talan only to find it empty. Placing Haldir's quiver carefully in the corner, she headed for the bathing room to wash, then gazed longingly at the tub. Her arms throbbed painfully from the archery, and she had labored hard in the garden. Haldir was not here and it was well past time for dinner so he must be dining with someone else, or had gone to the common dining area. A bath would lessen her aches.

She filled the tub and heated the water, then removed her clothes and stepped in, easing her stiff body against the sloped edge with a groan. She had been pushing herself too hard lately, between the gardening and the archery, and the other chores.

Ignoring the pain in her arms, she thought about Lurien, unable to shake the feeling that he had some ulterior motive in offering his friendship, something more than mere seduction as Haldir had suggested. Should she tell Haldir about her encounter with his former rival? She debated, then decided she would not. It would only put that cold look into his eyes, the one she detested. It was his warmth and his smile she longed to see.

Elanor exhaled a wistful sigh. Her friends' talk of lovers had put wild fancies into her head, and it was difficult to let them go. For many years she had been secretly longing for masculine companionship, though she had not actually thought much beyond the romantic aspect to the physical relationship. It now seemed as though everyone else had someone, everyone knew what it was all about, even Doria who seemed so innocent. Everyone except young Elanor of Rivendell, who had only been kissed. And who wanted most desperately to feel beautiful and feminine and, above all, desirable.

She cared for Haldir, that was the crux of the matter. She cared for him a great deal, more than any other male she had ever met, and in a far different way than she had cared for, say, Telrion or Minden. She had known she cared the moment she saw the slashes in his clothing, the moment that the realities of how he spent his time, what he did with his life, were brought home to her. That was when she knew.

And she wanted so much to understand him. Their time together these past few days had been filled with such harmony, especially their evening talks while they strolled together beneath the golden trees. And yet since the first day on the archery field, the same day she had met Healea, a portion of his former aloofness had returned, like an invisible shield hanging between them. The Haldir who laughed with her, the Haldir who made teasing remarks about her 'benefits', the Haldir who suggested he could seduce her if he chose, that he could set her on fire . . . that Haldir had disappeared, replaced by one who was kind and patient and almost paternal.

And although the new Haldir was wise and wonderful, she missed the other Haldir, the one who could be playful and wicked and cocky and sensual, the one who filled her with contradictory desires and emotions, stealing her peace and replacing it with a heart-thudding excitement she had never known before.

Hoping for some signal from him that he felt what she felt, she had tried a few small tricks these past few days. Two mornings ago she had come to breakfast in her nightgown (letting the neckline droop just the tiniest bit), but he had gotten up and left. Yesterday, after dinner, she had brushed against him, but he had only moved away. This morning she had worn the new gown that Doria had made for her (with no chemise underneath) and twirled around to show him, knowing how it hugged her curves. He had assessed its quality, but had seemed not to notice the maiden inside it.

In retrospect, these actions seemed ridiculous and pathetic. As her new friends had pointed out, Haldir was not an elf who could be entrapped by ordinary feminine subterfuges. Not that she truly wished to resort to such things, but what did one do if one wished to attract a certain male? Elanor really had no idea at all.

She only knew she wanted to be touched, and held, and kissed, and cared for and possessed. And she wanted Haldir to be the one to do it. She now realized that she had never disliked him even when she had been furious with him, that the two emotions had nothing to do with each other. More than that, she had this powerful urge to take care of him, and fuss over him—as long as he wasn't being a bully, she thought with a small smile. She could not let him get away with that.

Should she put aside her newly formed dreams or cling to them? Since meeting Healea, she had begun to believe that Haldir had very sophisticated tastes. Elanor knew she was not sophisticated, not in the way some of the older ellith were. Perhaps he had only kissed her so as not to hurt her feelings. In fact, his interest in her might never have existed outside her own imagination. Or else it had already faded, nothing more than a fleeting spark that had quickly died.

With a small grimace, she sank further into the warm water, her head propped comfortably, her dark hair cascading over the outer edge of the tub. The warm water and the woodsy fragrance of the soap swirled around her, the scent Haldir carried on his silken skin and in his beautiful silver-blond hair. So tired . . . she was so tired . . . and so achy . . . and just a little sad . . .

She drifted into a light reverie . . . dreaming of Haldir . . . of his face . . . his smile . . . his eyes . . . his kisses . . .

She came awake suddenly. What had startled her? The front door.

Haldir was home, he was walking through the bedchamber . . . in the direction of the bathing room. Her heart leaped and began to thud double-time, but before she could react, he was there, standing in the arched doorway. Looking at her.

"Elanor." He seemed more taken aback than she had ever seen him. "I thought you were not here." She saw his eyes drift downward, taking her in quite fully before returning his gaze to her face.

She could not fathom what was in his mind, nor did she know why she could not seem to move, why she just lay there and looked at him as if paralyzed. Belatedly, she crossed her arms over her chest and drew her knees together in a ridiculous and prim delayed reaction that embarrassed her even further. She felt simultaneously bashful and wanton to be naked in front of him, even though she knew he had already seen most of her on other occasions.

"I am sorry," she heard herself babble, her voice whooshing out in a rush. "I am late with dinner. My arms were hurting so badly and I thought that—"

"Your arms hurt?" His dark brows snapped together. "How long did you practice?" He made no move to retreat or spare her from the comprehensive assessment of his steady scrutiny. He just stood there and glowered down his nose at her while she huddled in the tub.

"From mid-afternoon until dusk," she said, and raised her chin. Somehow she had expected him to be impressed, or at least approving, but it was clear he was neither.

"That was far too long. Your muscles are not equipped for that much exercise. Your actions were unwise, and now you are in pain because of it." He picked up the drying cloth and held it out, his head turned away from her. "Get out of the tub." His tone was curt and critical.

"Not unless you close your eyes!" She was beginning to bristle now; he was back to his bullying, and she did not like it.

"I have already seen you, Elanor, but I am not looking at you now. Take this and dry yourself, then go and lie on the bed."

"What?" She gaped at him as she snatched the cloth from his hand and quickly wrapped it around her body. "Why?"

"Facedown," he added, his face still averted.

"You seem angry, Haldir, but I do not understand why. I thought you would be pleased."

"I am not pleased that you have injured yourself, nor am I pleased that you failed to follow my directives. One hour a day, I said. I thought that was clear enough." He turned back to her, the grey eyes glittering with an unspoken challenge. "Now go and lie down on the bed, Elanor."

She opened her mouth to argue, then thought better of it. Instead, she moved quickly past him, trying not to betray how nervous he was making her as she did as he instructed. In her present rather vulnerable condition, she did not quite have the nerve to start a dispute.

He startled her yet again by rearranging the drying cloth so that it covered only her hips. Next he peeled off his over-tunic and removed his boots, then shoved up the sleeves of his black under-tunic. Her eyes settled on his muscular forearms as he reached for a small vial sitting on the table beside the bed. Elanor tried to control her breathing, her pulse racing as she strained to see what he was doing. He appeared to be pouring whatever was in the vial into the palm of his hand.

"What are you going to do?" she finally asked. She could not judge how annoyed he actually was with her, but she was not at all afraid, although her heart was thumping hard.

"I will do what I can for you," he said curtly. "I am best with bruises and open wounds, but I will try to help. At least I can take away the pain, though it will take the muscles a day or two to heal."

Her eyes widened as he climbed on the bed and placed his knees on either side of her thighs to straddle her. She barely stifled a gasp as he settled his hands on her back and began to knead, his thumbs digging gently and expertly into the muscles on either side of her spine in a way that sent a delicious warmth seeping throughout every part of her body. Incredible sensations stole through her, a sensual merging of relief and erotic delight that almost stopped her heart completely.

He did not speak, but over the next several minutes, he worked his way up to the region of her shoulder blades, then over her shoulders and down her aching arms all the way to her wrists. She sighed with pleasure, scarcely able to believe he was doing this for her. She felt him briefly encircle her slender wrists with his thumbs and index fingers, as though to measure their size, then he was working his way back up her arms, pausing over her throbbing upper arms, then onward, his hands cupping her shoulders for an instant, then massaging the muscles at the base of her neck. Tingles raced through her body, and she nearly moaned aloud from the pleasure.

"Why did you practice so long?" he asked abruptly, though without anger.

"I wanted to hit the target." Her voice sounded soft and thready because of the pressure he was exerting.

"And did you?" His hands were halfway down her back now.

"Yes. Finally. But only once," she admitted, her voice a bit stiff in an effort to conceal her mortification. "I do not think I have the knack for archery."

"What you lack is patience," he corrected. "You think to become proficient in three days. That will not happen, Elanor. Perhaps in three years you will be able to hit the target with consistency."

"I will not be here in three years," she retorted, a bit dejectedly.

His hands stilled at the small of her back. "You do not know that," he said tonelessly. She wondered what he meant, but dared not ask.

Silence reigned for several minutes, then Elanor lifted her head. "What is that sound?"

"That is Haldir's stomach wondering where dinner is," Haldir told her dryly.

"I am sorry," she said again. "I will start cooking as soon as you are done."

"I will cook tonight." He paused. "I used a healing spell on your arms while I was working. You should feel some better, at least."

"Yes, I do," she said a bit shyly. "Much better. Thank you, Haldir. You are more generous than I deserve."

"You are welcome, Elanor. Now, I would like you to do the same for me."

She felt his weight lift off her and she quickly got off the bed, drawing the cloth up around her, watching with a rising knot in her throat as he stripped off his under-tunic and stretched out on the bed. "The vial contains an exotic oil that helps relax muscles." His head was on the pillow, his face turned away from her.

Elanor's mouth had gone dry. "I should dress first," she said uncertainly.

"That is unnecessary. I will not look at you. Just use some of that oil on my back as I did for you. I find it most pleasurable." His tone did not indicate any interest in her at all, much to her disappointment.

Elanor swallowed hard and drew the cloth more closely around her. In essence, it appeared her state of undress had no effect on him. Perhaps this was his subtle way of letting her know it. She should be wise and take the hint.

She poured oil on her hands and rubbed them together as she had seen him do, her hands trembling slightly with the knowledge of what he asked her to do. Then she climbed on the bed, and straddled him just as he had done to her, her eyes on the broad expanse of his bare back. She could not reach his shoulders or neck unless she moved forward and sat directly on his hips, and so she inched forward, wondering if he would protest, but he did not.

Slowly, she pressed her hands to his flesh, just as she had been wanting to do for days. He was warm and hard and soft all at once, smooth skin and solid muscle beneath the slide of her palms. She worked her way around leisurely, exploring as she went, discovering where he was tense and where he was relaxed, tending to the places that seemed to need it as he had done for her. She gazed at the side of his face, his silhouette, the dark arch of his brow and the curve of his lips. He looked so beautiful and so peaceful that it moved her, made her want to say something to him, although what she did not know.

For some reason she thought of that moment more than two years ago, back in that Rivendell courtyard, when he had given her that bold wink. She had been utterly fascinated, compelled to glance back over her shoulder even as she hurried away from him. How many times after that had she thought of him? Of what might have happened if she had not run away? Of what might have happened if they had encountered each other a few days sooner? Perhaps that was why she had been so appalled when Lana had claimed him as her own. Appalled and bitterly disappointed. And then she had fooled herself into thinking she despised him when the reality was very different indeed.

Very gently, she shifted a long lock of his pale hair and began to massage the base of his neck. She wished she could bend down and press a kiss to his shoulder. He had beautiful shoulders, strong and exquisitely defined. He was so solid and perfect and male that her heart squeezed at the sight of him, yet she felt such a sense of loss.

What could she say to him? What words would be safe to utter? She could think of none.

"I will be going back to the border soon," he said suddenly. "My brothers return tomorrow. We will have a dinner here for them, then I will go."

"Oh," she faltered. "How long will you be gone?"

"Only two or three weeks, I think. That is my plan. A little higher, Elanor. Yes, that is perfect." He sighed slightly. "Perfect," he repeated. "You see, you do have skill in your hands."

"Haldir," she said softly. "Why do you not call me Ellie?"

"Ellie sounds like a child. You are not a child."

Her fingers stilled. It was not the answer she expected, and it pleased her. "But my friends call me Ellie. You must have noticed."

"I am not your friend," he replied. "I am your guardian."

"And because of that you feel guilt for kissing me." She had not meant to raise the subject, but the words somehow slipped out of their own accord. Stupid Elanor! Why had she said that?

"I feel no guilt, Elanor. You asked and I gave."

His sudden coolness stung like a slap in the face, hanging between them for a long moment, a wedge driven into their newfound harmony. Would she never learn to hold her tongue? To be discreet and careful in what she said?

"I gave too," she said unevenly. "But it has become clear to me that I do not affect you, and I apologize if I made you uncomfortable. I should not have asked . . . what I asked. I will not trouble you again in such a way." She knew her pain came through in her voice, but there was nothing she could do to prevent it.

For a tense moment nothing happened, then the mountain below her rose up suddenly, heaving her aloft as Haldir rolled over onto his back and stared at her with startling intensity. Elanor found herself sitting on a different part of him, and once again her heart nearly stopped. Then she started to tremble, unable to breathe or think as he reached for her wrists and held them loosely, as if to prevent any chance of escape.

"You do not affect me?" he repeated, his dark-lashed eyes smoldering. "Perhaps you may be able to feel how unaffected I am."

Elanor felt almost faint. She could feel his state of arousal, very large and very solid and firmly pressed against that part of her that burned for him. A more intimate contact was hardly possible given the fact that he still wore his leggings; she could feel the heat of his desire through the thin layer of that single layer of fabric. She hung over him, instinctively wanting to shift her weight against him, but did not quite dare.

"We are attracted to each other, Elanor, make no mistake about that." His voice was soft and husky. "I think you know now that it is mutual and powerful. But we will not act upon it for the reasons I already stated."

"Honor. " She barely breathed the word. "Do you think that you dishonored me when you kissed me? Is that why you walked away? Were you angry with me? Or with yourself?"

Haldir gazed up at her, his face taut, concealing whatever he was feeling with the strength of his considerable will. "My kiss did not dishonor you, nor was I angry. Indeed, it was you who honored me with your trust . . . and with your lips. But you must understand that I walked away from you because I wanted more. More of you, Elanor. And for me, there is a point beyond which it becomes very difficult and uncomfortable for me to stop. Although," he added, "I can do it, when necessary. Right now is just such an instance."

"Speaking of now, Haldir, what are we doing?" she asked, a small tremor in her voice. "Why are you holding me like this?"

"I am showing you what you need to know about me." His grip on her wrists tightened as if to emphasize his words. "Elanor, you need not leave off your chemise or play games to make me notice you. I am aware of you at all times. I know what is on your mind, and I know that your actions spring from innocence. But too much is happening too soon, and we need time apart. When next we meet, all this may be behind us."

Behind us? Did he think to recover from her as he recovered from a wound? With nothing left to show of what had occurred, no ripple in the smoothness of his life? Was that what he wanted to happen? What he hoped? It was certainly not what she hoped! But what could she say?

Elanor's chest constricted, an odd, tight feeling, but she finally remembered what it was she had been wanting to tell him. "Haldir, Galadriel said it is not the action but the intention that defines honor."

She saw Haldir's gaze shift to some point over her shoulder, as though he was contemplating the implications of the Lady's words. "The lady is wise," he said at last. "Her words hold many layers of meaning. We would do well to consider that. As for my intentions, at present they are to leave my brothers in charge of you while I perform my duty at the border. You can put your full trust in Rúmil and Orophin." He released her wrists. "And now, Elanor, as much as I enjoy having you sit on me, I think it would be extremely wise if you put some clothes on. I will prepare our dinner. You have done enough today."

Orophin reached the appointed meeting spot and sat down on a stump, stretching out his long legs while he waited for Rúmil to arrive. The sun was just sinking below the horizon, its golden light highlighting the dark bark of the forest trees. The breeze sighed through the leaves of the mellyrns in a soft and pleasant whisper. A wayward golden leaf drifted to his shoulder, and he brushed it off just as he caught a glimpse of his brother striding toward him through the trees.

As always, Rúmil flashed a grin and clasped Orophin's arm in greeting. "Mae govennen, brother. Two swift and rather dull weeks, and we are off to the city again. I wish all our marches were so short."

Side by side, the two headed in the direction of Caras Galadhon, pleased as always to see each other, for they were very close. They had been separated during their time on the border, and now sought to catch up on a conversation that had been postponed due to the presence of others.

"Such a merciful punishment our brother gave us, quite contrary to what I feared." Orophin shifted his bow, sliding it along his shoulder to rest behind his arm, available but not in hand. "What caused such leniency, do you think? He was not so forgiving to fair Elanor."

Rúmil shrugged and brushed the long strands of hair over his shoulder as the wind teased the silky tendrils. "I know not. I agree, it is not like him to be so ruthless with a maiden. It is most odd."

Orophin nodded. "I agree." He stared off into the forest with brows furrowed in thought. "I have pondered deeply on the cause of this. What of you?"

Rúmil glanced at his brother. "I have not dwelled on it. I have been dreaming of more pleasurable pastimes than the dark secrets of our brother's soul."

Orophin rolled his eyes. "Pleasurable? Pleasure is all you think about."

Rúmil stopped, facing his brother. "All I think about? What of you? Your passion for Doria has all but wiped clear sense from your mind! I seek pleasure, but at least I have a mind that functions with logic and reason."

Orophin ignored Rúmil's teasing. "I only debate how to approach Doria. I cannot speak of what lies in my heart as easily as you. She was always a friend, a lovely elleth I teased and flirted with . . . until the day she tumbled from a chair into my arms. And nothing has been the same since then. But I fear disappointment in love more than I fear Sauron himself. I have no words to tell her what I feel."

Rúmil sighed. "Do you wish me to tell you what to say?"

"Nay, I will find the words." Orophin glanced at him. "It is Haldir who should concern you. Do you remember his gloomy mood those last days Rivendell?"

"Indeed I do. What of it?"

Orophin stared up into the canopy of leaves. "I have been thinking. Could it be that he had already met Elanor? Perhaps he tried to speak to her and was rejected, and that was why his mood was so dark. Thanks to Telrion, we know about this business with the sister. Perhaps she threw that in his face."

"Met Elanor? Where? I do not recall seeing her at any of the social gatherings we attended. If she was there, she hid herself well. Now the sister, I remember well. A lovely brat."

Orophin punched him lightly on the arm. "Nay, but think, Rúmil. Elanor was furious at our brother, for reasons untrue, but still furious to the point of being unreasonable. What if she had already approached him with her accusations? You know how Haldir would react. He would have been the cold, intimidating elf we know so well. And that is what could have forced her to do what she did."

Rúmil stopped dead and pondered this. "What you say is both logical and possible, so you must retain a portion of your mind. But what is your point?"

Orophin continued down the path, then glanced over his shoulder, waiting for Rúmil to catch up. "For one thing, this business about him getting loose from those knots. When I thought she had a romantic interest in him, I did not worry about it. But Haldir must have been furious with her, have you thought of that?"

Rúmil's eyes met his. "He _was_ furious. Do you recall I told you that I saw her in the forest with Galadriel, changing out of her wet gown? Her chemise had at some time been torn from neck to waist. She later admitted that Haldir had done it, poor little maid."

Orophin scowled. "That concerns me, to think Haldir would do that."

Rúmil bent down to pick a small purple flower. "I thought he would steal only a kiss or two, but that was when I thought her intention was, shall we say, to enjoy him. It is clear that sort of activity did not occur, and there was much anger on both sides. But I do not think he hurt her."

Orophin glanced at Rúmil, who was twirling the flower between his fingers. "My point, Rúmil, is that I think Haldir was attracted to her, and that was the reason for his depression. And then what followed made it worse. If he has interest in Elanor, he will have bungled it completely by now."

"I've always heard he is smooth with the ellith," Rúmil said doubtfully. "They practically throw themselves at his feet, the lucky bastard."

"But think what sort he chooses! None are anything like Elanor. He is used to another type. Like Healea and her ilk."

"He seems contented enough with his choices."

"Contented," Orophin agreed, "but did you ever see him excited or nervous or thrown out of stride? Did you ever see him reluctant to leave an elleth when he set out for the border? I never have, not even with Healea!"

"I agree that Healea was wrong for him. She is too much like him!" Rúmil shuddered. "Too cold for my taste. Give me someone pretty and soft and charming like Gwirith or Nerwen."

"He put Elanor in his talan, Rúmil. His talan. Do you not see the significance of that? Never before has he allowed anyone to share his living quarters."

"True enough," Rúmil concurred.

"Elanor is different. Unique."

"You can say that again," Rúmil said with feeling. "Imagine anyone else asking us to kidnap Haldir and tie him to a bed!"

"I like her," Orophin said decisively. "She has courage and spirit."

"Oh, I like her too." Rúmil's tone was affable. "A pretty and amusing maiden."

"Rúmil, I think she may be the one for our brother."

"The one?" Rúmil turned and stared at him. "You mean The One?"

"Aye, that is what I mean. And if it so, we will need to do all we can to help bring it about because he only has one year to repair all the damage he's done." Orophin glanced at his brother. "What think you of that business with the cot?"

"I did not think much about it at all. What think you?"

"It is obvious one of them will use it. Which one, do you think?"

"I think he has given it to her," Rúmil said.

"And I think he has taken it for himself!" Orophin chuckled suddenly and wrapped an arm around Rúmil's shoulders. "I have a thought, brother."

"Yes?" Rúmil lifted an eyebrow. "I hear a note in your voice that alarms me."

"What if you did court Elanor? Not seriously, I mean, just enough to stir up our brother's jealousy. It might aid the cause."

"It might get me killed too," Rúmil shot back jokingly. "Why don't _you_ do it?"

"Because, dear brother, I am going to be courting Doria. I cannot court two maidens at once. You just said you liked her!"

"I do like her, and I would not mind kissing her either! Ha! Perhaps I _will_ court her just to see Haldir's reaction." He gripped his bow, swinging it off his shoulder and into his hand. "But enough maudlin talk of love and courtship. I wager I can beat you to the city by ten steps!" He sprinted quickly down the almost invisible trail.

Orophin streaked after him, his long legs quickly eating the distance. "I will be settled in my talan before you even reach the gates!"

It would take them a day to reach the city, but they would run for miles just for the sheer joy of it. Side by side, the brothers disappeared into the deepening shadows of the forest.

By the time Haldir had prepared a simple meal and they had eaten, he had disciplined himself back to his customary state of composed control. He knew it had been imprudent to put himself into the position he'd been in, but the temptation to have Elanor touch him had been too great to resist despite the rock-hard consequence and the discomfort of self-denial. And it had been exquisite, for she truly seemed to have magic in her fingers.

He had not wished her to know how aroused he was, but her words had made clear to him that he owed her that knowledge, that she needed to know. It had been a mistake to think that concealing his desire was the correct and appropriate thing to do; it had hurt her, which was not at all what he'd intended, and he would not protect himself at her expense. Until that moment, he had not understood that she truly had no idea what she had it in her power to do to him, even though she had already seen him naked and erect. Hence, he had showed her in the clearest possible way he could think of, without disguise or pretense, though she could not know how much it cost him to simply lie there, burning for her, while she sat on top of him like that.

At least she now knew the truth. Or at least some of it. She did not know that each hour he spent with her, his desire grew more urgent, more hungry and consuming . . . he quickly controlled the thought, banishing it to that part of his mind where he kept his secret fantasies, walled off from his daily activities.

"Elanor," he said, after the remains of the meal had been cleared away, "I have a gift for you." He had been looking forward to this moment for several days and was not about to let anything spoil it.

She turned to him, her surprise evident. "For me? What is it?"

"I will show you." He crossed the room and removed his gift from where he had hidden it a short time ago, watching her face as she set eyes on what it was he held in his hands. "You will need it while I am gone. I made it for you."

With satisfaction, he noted the emotion in her face, and felt the ripple of pleasure that formed itself from his relief. She liked it. He had pleased her. He felt odd, offering this and waiting for her reaction, a laying bare of himself that was not ordinary for him.

"You made it yourself? For me? Haldir, it is beautiful." With a dazed look, she reached out a hand to touch the soft leather of the quiver, a slightly smaller and lighter version of his own. He had spent much time forming the exterior design, a weaving of star-shaped elanor blooms interlaced with Lórien leaves, each delicately and meticulously pressed into the leather to form a complicated and attractive pattern. He had thought it would be pleasing to a female eye and something she might like. Attached to it was the strap and buckle so she might wear it.

"Yes, that is what I have been doing while you were otherwise occupied these past few days." He kept his eyes on her face, watching each nuance and fluctuation of her expression. "There are sixteen arrows within, but I have left the fletching for you to do yourself. It will be good practice for you."

She glanced up at him. "Oh, Haldir, you are so . . ."

He lifted a brow. "So what, Elanor?"

"So thoughtful," she finished with a trembling smile. "And conscientious and practical. And considerate and kind."

Haldir knew he was on the verge of flushing. "And insufferable," he reminded her. "And arrogant and infuriating."

"Only sometimes." He was stunned to see that her eyes were moist.

"I expect you to practice while I am gone," he said gruffly. "One hour a day, Elanor, and no more. And no practice tomorrow. Your arms need a chance to recover."

"It has been a very long time since someone made me a gift," she told him almost shyly. "I would like to thank you properly."

He gazed at her, wondering what she meant, then was startled when she moved close and leaned up to brush his cheek with her lips. He was also absurdly, profoundly pleased. When was the last time a maiden had kissed him in such a way?

"There," she said, stepping back. "I know that was a bit bold, but I think a ward might be allowed to kiss her guardian in such a way when she receives such a marvelous gift."

"You are welcome, Elanor," he said evenly. "Would you care to go for an evening stroll? It would be our last for some time."

Elanor gave him one of her beautiful smiles, looking lovelier than he had ever seen her. "Yes, Haldir, I would like that very much."

Feeling more bemused than he had been in a long while, he set the quiver down upon a nearby chair and offered her his arm. It was the first time he had made such a courtly gesture, and to him it symbolized the crystallization of the inevitable. Yes, he needed distance to put his thoughts in order, but he no longer believed that what he was feeling for Elanor was going to disappear overnight.

Still, he had been mistaken about love before, and it was ever his way to be cautious in such matters. He could be wrong. And she might easily find someone else she preferred. In fact, did he not owe her the chance to do just that? That was something else he ought to ponder. Unfortunately, the idea disturbed him very deeply.

tbc (feedback is always very much appreciated!)


	12. Chapter Twelve

To our readers - Thanks for your patience, interest, and continued support!

**Chapter 12**

"Elanor, why are there only three place settings at the table?" Haldir stood in the arched kitchen doorway, his height and broad shoulders nearly filling it.

Elanor stirred the simmering pot of Hisilome soup, trying to appear unaffected by him when in reality her heightened senses were attuned to him in a new and most disturbing way. In a short while he would be leaving for the border and she was just beginning to realize how much she would miss him.

"I do not wish to intrude on your reunion with your brothers," she said carefully.

She tossed a handful of parsley into the soup and avoided his contemplative gaze. Something had changed between them since yesterday, something important that remained unspoken. Their evening walk last night had been more silent than usual, and had left her with a haunting confusion of emotions that had followed her throughout the long restless hours of the night.

"My brothers and I have been apart for two weeks, not two centuries," he said mildly. "And I wish you to join us."

He seemed to be awaiting her response, and although she was not looking at him, she could feel his eyes on her face.

"I will certainly do so if that is your wish," she said in a low voice, and looked over at him, conscious of a spurt of joy that he would desire her company. Still, she prayed there would be no awkwardness. How would his brothers react to find her sharing their meal? Would they think it was appropriate? Would the conversation be strained?

He returned to the front room, and Elanor pulled another soup plate from the cupboard and went to set it on the table just as the door to the talan flew open and Orophin and Rúmil entered in a boisterous manner that reminded her of their behavior back in Rivendell. Bracing herself, she turned to greet them and found their speculative gazes already settled on her. Rúmil especially seemed to be looking her over with a gleam in his eye she did not understand. Uneasily, she wondered if he found her amusing. Was he remembering the day she had nearly dropped Haldir's bow?

If so, he made no reference to it, but merely bowed in her direction, and sniffed the air appreciatively. "I see you are cooking tonight, Elanor. It smells too delicious to be of Haldir's making."

Orophin grinned and shut the door. "Indeed, his dinners often taste of leather and steel. We come here at our own peril."

"Nonsense, Orophin," she said tartly, "Haldir's cooking is delicious. And please take off your muddy boots. The floor was just swept."

She saw Rúmil and Orophin exchange a quick glance, but they both did as she bid them while Haldir watched with seeming good humor. In fact, his mood had seemed light all day, and it had crossed her mind that it might be due to the fact that he would soon be returning to his duties at the northern fences. Was he so eager to leave her? Or was it something to do with what had occurred between them yesterday? She could not make up her mind.

The brothers seated themselves and dinner commenced, with Elanor serving the steaming soup and freshly baked bread while Haldir poured wine for each of them. The light of the candles reflected in the golden glass of the plates and goblets while Orophin spoke of the lack of activity at the border and Rúmil leaned back and smiled beguilingly at Elanor. Oh dear, he surely must be remembering her fumbling of Haldir's weapons. It was all she could do to meet his gaze without flushing, but she managed it.

"The border was so quiet, we had to amuse ourselves with wagers and cards," Orophin remarked in a light tone. "Rúmil owes me a week of laundry duty, and I must fletch a dozen new arrows for him. I think I got the better end of the bargain."

"You play cards on the border?" Elanor said curiously. "How can you be on watch and play games?"

Rúmil set his goblet on the table, his blue eyes twinkling. "We do not stand guard all day and all night, my dear. We are allowed rest now and then. Many are the hours we have spent in such a way. Even Haldir has been known to indulge in his . . . unadventurous style." He sent Haldir a mischievous glance.

"Rúmil is notorious for his wild wagers," Haldir explained with equanimity. "Which he usually loses. I, on the other hand, usually win."

"Untrue!" Rúmil countered, looking injured. "My luck is extremely good at times."

Orophin snickered. "Which is why you will be washing my tunics tomorrow."

"Haldir is conservative," Rúmil complained. "I like to push my limits."

"Now you can push my clothes into the hot water," Orophin shot back, "and be sure you get them clean too!"

Haldir looked from one brother to the other and from the slight curl to his mouth, Elanor could see he was amused. Obvious affection existed between these three, and for a moment she thought of her last meeting with Lana and felt a tug of sadness.

"So, Elanor, I trust Haldir has been a nice elf while we've been gone." Rúmil leaned back in his chair, his eyes sliding from Elanor to Haldir in an openly inquisitive way. Elanor found Orophin also staring at her, and began to be annoyed.

"I have no complaints," she said briefly. "Would anyone like more soup?" She saw Haldir's lips twitch, and glared at him, knowing some of what must be going through his mind.

No one wanted more, so she gathered the plates and went into the kitchen. She could hear the three brothers speaking quietly as she began to clean the dishes, and soon realized that the cards had been brought out and that they were actually gambling. Was this how Haldir behaved when duty and obligation did not weigh him down? This was a side of him she had not seen, the side that allowed him to laugh and joke in an almost carefree way. She considered joining them, but decided against it since they were completely wrapped up in their game and were ignoring her. Instead, she went out on the terrace and looked up at the stars for almost an hour until curiosity got the better of her. Wondering what they talked about when she was not around, she decided to eavesdrop on them. Very quietly, she tiptoed into the kitchen.

"I wager two weeks of boot cleaning," she heard Rúmil say.

"I will meet that." This was Orophin.

Haldir laughed. "Two weeks? I wager three." Elanor stood still and listened, then her mouth fell open in outrage when she heard him add, "And I'll throw in Elanor's hand with that laundry." She heard Haldir lean back, somehow recognizing his pattern of movement.

She heard his brothers' chuckles, and seethed inwardly. Was Haldir serious? More likely he knew she was in the kitchen and was teasing her. She had not witnessed his humor for a number of days, but it seemed like something he might do.

"I'm out." She heard Orophin sigh and throw down his cards.

"I'll add a pair of new boots to my wager," Rúmil said recklessly.

"I'll meet that," Haldir stated, "and raise you a week of Elanor's cooking."

Elanor gasped, annoyed yet fascinated by this side of Haldir. She made no move, remaining where she was, unseen and very still so they would not know she was there. Although she suspected they did. They were wardens, after all, and her stealth was no better than average.

"From her soup this evening, I would say your wager is worth pursuing. I match your bid with a dozen new arrows, fully fletched!"

She heard the cards thrown down and Rúmil's snort of disgust. "Morgoth's balls, I know not how your luck holds, Haldir!"

Haldir chuckled, and she heard the wood on wood sound of chairs scraping back. "I know when my luck is about to run out, and that is when I stop."

"Good night, Ellie!" Orophin called out, making it obvious he knew she was in the kitchen. "Thank you! The soup was delicious!"

"Delicious," Rúmil echoed. "Sweet dreams, Ellie! We didn't get your floor dirty!"

Before she could move, the front door opened, their voices growing muted as they all left the talan and closed the door. Disgruntled, Elanor went into the front room and sat in her chair, tapping her foot with impatience. An instant later, Haldir returned.

"Ah, there you are," he said. "Where have you been?"

"You know perfectly well where I have been," she said, a little coolly.

"Yes," he admitted, his lips curving faintly. "Are you angry with me? We were only having a bit of fun."

"At my expense," she grumbled, still fuming a little. Despite her mild annoyance, she could not take him to task for what he had done, wagering her services like that, not when he was leaving. And she had to admit she liked this playful side of him.

He came over and took her hands, pulling her to her feet. "Contrary to general belief, Elanor, I do have a sense of humor." He touched her chin, lifting it gently with his fingers as he gazed down at her. "But I did not mean it to be at your expense. I only meant to tease you. I knew I had a winning hand." His eyes roved over her face as if memorizing her features. "It is time for me to go," he added quietly.

Releasing her, he crossed the room and buckled on his sword belt while she watched him with a queer, hollow feeling in her chest. She curled her fingers into her palms, fighting a strong urge to go to him, to hug and kiss him and tangle her fingers in his hair. She could not imagine what he would say if she did such a thing, but she knew very well what he would do. He would push her away, gently but with firmness.

"You will be careful," she said, her voice level. _I will miss you, _she wanted to add, but did not. She had already thrown herself at him enough times as it was. Now was the time for dignity and restraint.

Haldir slid his quiver over his back, and glanced at her as he fastened the strap. "I am always careful. And you will heed what I said about the archery. Remember that my brothers are here for you, should you need them. They will be your guardians while I am gone." His gaze connected with hers for a lengthy moment, then he walked to the door and looked at her again. "I will return in two or three weeks, Elanor. Farewell."

"Farewell, Haldir," she said softly.

And then the door opened and closed, and he was gone. Elanor stood very still, staring at the place where he had been, her arms wrapped around her middle as though she were cold. The room seemed so silent now, when a moment ago it had been full of life and sound. What a powerful difference his presence made, she thought with amazement.

She closed her eyes, trying to analyze how she felt. Was she sad? Depressed? Lonely? Perhaps she should be elated he would no longer be here to cause such disorder to her senses, such confusion to her mind. Perhaps he was right that they needed time apart. But still . . . his leave-taking seemed abrupt and disheartening.

But what had she expected? Or wanted?

The door reopened suddenly. Haldir stood in the doorway.

Surprised, Elanor tensed. "Did you forget something?"

His eyes met hers. "Yes." He seemed hovering on the edge of indecision, then he came inside and shut the door. "I did not actually forget," he added, walking over to her. Then, before she knew what he was about, his hands settled at her waist and he was kissing her, full on the lips yet so swiftly she had no time to kiss him back. Just as quickly he withdrew, but not before she reached out and touched his fingers, pressing them ever so slightly before they slipped away.

He studied her face, his mouth curved in a small, tender smile. "Take care, Elanor." He reached out and smoothed a few strands of hair from her cheek, the warmth of his fingertips leaving a trail of heat along her flesh.

And for the second time, he left. Elanor stood paralyzed, rooted to the floor in sheer, heavenly bliss. Once again he had done it. He had caused her heart to flutter and her pulse to race and her knees to weaken like they had no substance or strength. She only hoped she had made him feel the same. Recalling what he had seen fit to reveal to her yesterday, she decided she probably had . . . and was filled with a swirl of pure feminine satisfaction at the thought.

Across the room, the elanor plant unfurled the petals of its newest bloom.

Orophin leaned against a railing several levels below, watching Haldir stride quickly and gracefully down the winding steps in their direction. "Look at him," he remarked quietly. "There is a spring in his step I have not seen in many years. What do you think he said to Elanor when he went back?"

Rúmil leaned his elbows on the rail. "Don't forget to do my laundry?"

Orophin shot him an irritated look. "Be serious for a moment."

"Seriously, then, I have no idea." Rúmil rubbed his chin. "Perhaps he wished to apologize for teasing her as he did, although seldom does our brother apologize for anything. Yet seldom does he show his playful side to someone other than us. And that means . . . what?"

"It means he feels comfortable with her," Orophin replied. "And it means he has lowered barriers he usually lowers only for us. I think it is a very good sign. And I think he has made some claims on her that even he does not realize. Did you see the way she looked at him? Perhaps he has not bungled things as badly as we feared."

"I wonder just how far he has taken his interest with her." Rúmil's tone grew speculative.

"That is not our concern," Orophin scolded, then spoiled it by adding, "not as far as he would like, if I am any judge of it. Too much tension between them. Could you feel it?"

"I felt it," Rúmil admitted. "I was not sure what it meant, other than the obvious, of course."

"Indeed. The obvious." Orophin sighed, thinking of Doria for a moment, and felt a quickening in his loins. "He wants her, that much is certain, but you should still plan to court her. I feel our plan is a good one."

"As long as I come out of it in one piece," Rúmil muttered.

Orophin nudged him. "Speak no more." He stepped away from the railing as Haldir came up to them. "A good journey, brother."

"I would have a word with you regarding Elanor," Haldir said, pausing before them. "Watch over her while I am gone. She is learning archery and may need some guidance. No more than an hour a day should she practice until her muscles grow stronger. I have told her this."

Rúmil smiled brightly. "I will be glad to help her. In fact, I plan to keep a very close eye on her."

Haldir looked as though he would like to object, but he only nodded curtly. He seemed to gather himself a bit before adding, with a discomfort that was most unlike him, "One thing you should know . . . she is an innocent and may need more protection than you might anticipate."

Rúmil raised a brow. "Of course she is innocent. She is young."

Haldir frowned slightly. "No, I mean she is an _Innocent_," he gave the word a significant emphasis, "and I do not wish her to be taken advantage of by anyone. You know of whom I speak."

"Oh," said Rúmil in blank astonishment. "Well. Er . . . how do you know?"

"You speak of Lurien," Orophin put in quickly, shooting a warning scowl in Rúmil's direction. "Worry not, Haldir. We will allow no harm to come to Elanor."

Haldir shifted his bow and stepped away. "Look for me in two to three weeks. Send word if anything happens of which I should be made aware." He gave a parting nod, and they silently watched him disappear down the steps.

"I wonder how he found out," Rúmil persisted, beneath his breath. "Aren't you the least bit curious?"

Orophin sighed.

Elanor lay in the big bed, feeling much more alone than when Haldir was there sleeping on the terrace. To comfort herself, she relived the memory of his goodbye kiss, which inevitably led to the prior day's more intimate encounter. A familiar heat licked through her at the memory, a fire that tingled her flesh and made her groan with her desire for him. This proved so tortuous that she forced her thoughts into other channels, remembering how he had guarded them all during their journey to Lothlórien, how he had carried her from the stream and healed her ankle and given her his cloak. And then he had fought those horrible creatures. She shivered at that memory. She had been right about him; he was dangerous in so many ways. Most of all to her heart.

Unfortunately, when she finally fell into reverie, she dreamed of goblins, an unpleasant nightmare that lingered in her mind for a few heart-pounding minutes after she awakened, alone and terrified, in the darkest hour of the night. Perhaps it was just as well that Haldir was not there, for if he had been, she might have been tempted to go to him for comfort. Eventually she slept once more.

Over the next few days, Elanor's life fell into a comfortable pattern. Archery practice fulfilled her desire for physical activity, while gardening fed her need for inner peace and connection to growing things. Most days she worked alone, but sometimes Doria or another friend came by and chatted with her, although Healea was never one of them. Elanor wondered whether Healea has forgotten her intention to pay her a visit. Meanwhile, Elanor was becoming better acquainted with more and more people, including Haldir's brothers. Both Orophin and Rúmil had come to the archery field to watch her practice, but they made her so nervous she eventually asked them to go away, explaining that she seemed to do her best when no one was watching. It was the only time she ever hit the target.

Rúmil had begun to invite her for strolls in the evening; she assumed Haldir had bidden him to do it although she could not be sure. But Rúmil did not seem to mind; indeed, he appeared to enjoy her company, and had kept her entertained by relating amusing stories of when he, Orophin and Haldir were young. One subject Rúmil avoided was any mention of Healea, or any other ladies Haldir might have courted. She wondered if this was deliberate.

The evening of their fourth stroll, Rúmil directed their footsteps toward a small garden she had not yet visited. "Oh, this is so pretty," she remarked, looking around with delight.

"Indeed. Let us sit upon that bench over there. I want to talk to you, Ellie."

"Oh?" She glanced at Rúmil. "About something in particular?"

"Aye," he admitted, with one of his amiable smiles. "But sit down first. Make yourself comfortable."

Elanor did as he suggested, arranging the skirt of her gown and studying him as he seated himself beside her. "Is something amiss?"

Rúmil angled his body so he faced her, his blue eyes quizzical. "That is what I want to ask you. Haldir asked Orophin and me to watch over you. I have been doing just that, as you know."

"I know. And I am grateful, although there is no need. I can take care of myself."

"That may be, but I have passed by your talan at night," he said in a careful tone, "and three times have I heard you cry out in your sleep."

Elanor looked away, unwilling to tell him how many more times than that she had awoken to the sound of her own voice. "I've just been having a few bad dreams, Rúmil. It is not important."

"Would you like to speak of them?" he inquired, more seriously than usual.

"I only dream of goblins. I'm sure it will stop soon."

He gave her a searching look. "If you like, I could stay there with you for a night or two. On the terrace, of course," he added quickly.

"That is kind, but there is no need," she said, embarrassed that he thought she would need to be coddled in such a way. "It is really nothing, Rúmil."

He gazed at her, his eyes narrowed in an assessing way that suddenly reminded her of Haldir. It was the first time she had noticed a resemblance of manner between them. "Very well, but you will tell me if you change your mind."

"You sound like Haldir now," she said, a bit teasingly, and was pleased to see his smile return. Rúmil's smiles were always beautiful to behold.

"Enough of that then," he said in his more usual playful manner. "Time to get back to the important business . . . of our flirtation."

She laughed. "Is that what we have been doing? I had no idea."

"Ellie!" Rúmil pretended to be shocked. "Can you not tell when someone is flirting with you?"

Amused, she shook her head. "Sometimes I can, sometimes I cannot." She paused, and said, as casually as possible, "Does Haldir ever flirt?"

"Not with me!" Rúmil replied jokingly, before adding, as she rolled her eyes, "Truthfully, he does not, at least not to my knowledge." He opened his mouth as if he would say something more, then instead, his gaze ran over her in open speculation. "Why? Does he flirt with you?"

"Oh, no!" Elanor said quickly. "No, of course not. Not in the way you mean." When Rúmil only looked at her, she added, "I should not have asked you such a question. I am sorry."

Rúmil reached out and caught hold of her hand, squeezing her fingers slightly. "Do not apologize. You may ask me whatever you like. I will do my best to answer."

"You are very kind." She hesitated. "I do have one other question that might sound odd. I have friends I can ask, but it is a question I would like answered by a male."

"What is it?" Rúmil leaned back, regarding her with a rather sweet smile.

She transferred her gaze to her fingertips. "What does it mean when someone winks at you?"

Rúmil released a quick laugh. "Now I know we are not talking about Haldir! Who winked at you?"

"Why do you say it could not have been Haldir?" she countered.

Rúmil's grin broadened. "Haldir winked at you? Truly?"

"Two years ago," she confessed, "when we first saw each other in a courtyard in Rivendell. He stared at me and I walked away from him, but then I looked back and . . . he winked." To her dismay, she blushed.

Rúmil appeared amazed. "It seems I do not know my own brother as well as I thought. He can be bold, if he chooses, and his humor can be sharp, but winking?" His voice drifted off as he appeared to consider this, then his attention swung back to her. "What it means," he said bluntly, "is that Haldir looked at you and liked what he saw. I daresay he would have spoken to you if he had the chance, so he must have had some duty to attend to."

Elanor nodded, a bit embarrassed she had brought it up. "Yes, he did, and I suppose that makes sense. Well, it matters not. It is only that no one had ever winked at me before . . . or since . . . and I was curious."

"You are a very pretty elleth. Haldir is not the only one attracted to you."

"Now you are flirting," she said. "Even I can tell!"

"True, but I am also stating a fact. You have many admirers here in Lórien, of which I am one. May I steal a kiss?" he added with a wink.

Elanor laughed. "One does not ask permission to steal, Rúmil. Did no one ever tell you that? But I know you are not serious."

"Sometimes I am most serious when I am joking." He gazed at her, then rose to his feet and held out his hand. "Come, let us walk."

Elanor accepted his hand, and they strolled for several minutes along a winding path that led them through several brightly colored flowerbeds. "Rúmil," she said after a few silent moments, "there is something important I wish to say to you. I should have said it much sooner."

"And what is that?" Rúmil sounded amused.

"About what happened in Rivendell . . . what we did to Haldir. I spoke with Galadriel, and she said you and Orophin would not speak of it. And I have heard no whispers here in Lórien so I assume all is well." She could feel Rúmil's blue eyes observing her as she added, awkwardly, "I care not for myself, but for your brother . . . he did not deserve such treatment, and the tale might do him harm. I would not wish him to suffer a loss of respect among his people. What we did was very wrong, and I am deeply ashamed."

Rúmil halted and brought her hand to his lips, gallantly pressing a kiss upon the backs of her fingers. "Fear not, little sister," he said easily. "It is a tale that will never be told, but I honor you for your concern. Lord Elrond addressed us most sternly on this matter, although it was unnecessary." His mouth slanted into a grin. "As an untold tale, it will give us something to hold over Haldir's head for years to come, which gives it great value. And you must realize that an occasional loss of dignity is the only thing that keeps Haldir bearable! I am sure the whole experience was very beneficial for him."

"I know you are joking," Elanor replied earnestly. "The three of you are fortunate and blessed to have each other. And despite your jokes about Haldir, I can see that you are a good and loyal brother to him. And you care for his well-being and happiness."

Rúmil was silent, his mouth still curved with good humor. "Aye, I do, and he knows it. Which is why—" He broke off suddenly and seemed intent on gazing at a nearby cluster of niphredil.

"Why what?" Elanor echoed. She arched a questioning brow, but Rúmil only smiled a rather lazy smile and changed the subject.

Orophin paced back and forth in his talan, indecision nearly tearing him apart. He had come back to the city fully intending to begin his courtship of Doria, but each time he saw her, there were too many others around for him to say what it was he wished to say. And by the time he was reasonably sure she would be alone, the hour was so late that he felt it was not an appropriate time to pay her a visit.

The first day of his return to the city he had gone to the silversmith and commissioned a piece of jewelry, a fine silver chain bearing a delicate amulet in the shape of a small butterfly. He had designed it himself and was very proud of it. Now all he had to do was decide how to deliver it to her. And when. And what to say.

Now that he actually had it, however, it seemed a brazen gift given the fact that he had hardly spoken to her for so long. He was well aware of how it appeared, his avoidance of her, and he regretted it. He did not know why he became so tongue-tied in her presence when he was that way with no one else. At least he could comfort himself with the knowledge that she had no lover at the moment, for he had made discreet inquiries on the matter. It was a thin rope to cling to, but it was something.

What if he simply left it on her doorstep? He could let her wonder for a few days who her admirer was before revealing himself. If he saw her wearing it, then at least he would know that she liked it, and if so she might favor whoever gave it to her.

He shook his head at his own behavior. When faced with a score of charging Orcs he was unafraid, yet the prospect of courting a maiden, of being in _love_ with that maiden, struck a terror into his heart the likes of which he had never known.

Because at heart, Orophin was a romantic. And if the object of his affection rejected him, he very much feared he might never recover.

Elanor burrowed her fingers into the earth, close yet not too close to the roots of the delicate young plant that had decided to begin life in the wrong place. She had never considered any plant a weed; like all living creatures, there was a place for each, either in a different part of the garden or somewhere else. Many were the times she had carried such plants right out of the city only to replant them on the slopes outside the city gates. The Sentinels at the gates were used to her coming and going, and she often received smiles and nods of greeting from them.

This small plant was a little known herb, and could be moved into the section of Galadriel's garden where the other herbs grew. She set it aside, along with several others, and brushed her fingers upon her gardening smock. She had created it from one of Haldir's worn-out tunics, one that still carried a slight scent of him, and she often paused in her work to bring the fabric closer, just to be reminded of him. It gave her comfort, and helped to banish the memory of the disturbing dreams that continued to haunt her rest.

Deep inside, she knew she played with fire; it was quite possible she might never see him again once the year was up. He was attracted to her, but he possessed a self-control that she did not, and seemed able to resist her quite easily. Yet she had not the strength of will to resist the attraction she felt for him. For too long had she lived a life without this kind of stimulation, and now that she felt it, she understood its allure. Other maidens had spoken of their lovers, but Elanor had never desired to have one for herself. Now she did, most passionately. Yet of all elves to choose, Haldir of Lórien was the one elf it seemed she could not have, save those who were bound to their mates, of course. And her secret fear was that she would never desire another, and that she would yearn for him . . . forever. A lowering thought!

A shadow fell across the ground in front of her. "Good afternoon, Elanor. I'd hoped to find you here."

Elanor glanced up. "Hello, Lurien." She was unsurprised by the Sentinel's appearance, for she had seen him several times these past few days, and he had always made a point to greet her, though the presence of Haldir's brothers appeared to be enough to deter him from approaching her. Neither brother was around at the moment, although she had spoken with Rúmil just prior to entering the garden.

"May I join you?" Without waiting for her to reply, Lurien seated himself beside her on the grass and stretched out his long legs, crossing them at the ankles. Sunlight glinted on his long golden hair and highlighted the flawless skin stretched over his high cheekbones. The blueness of his eyes seemed accentuated. "How do you fare these days? Have you fully adjusted to life in Lothlórien?"

It seemed a safe enough topic of conversation, so Elanor replied, and they talked for a few minutes about the differences between Rivendell and Lórien. Elanor soon felt relaxed enough to continue her work, while Lurien stretched on his side in the grass, his head supported on his hand while he watched her.

"I saw you practicing your archery the other day," he said suddenly. "You do much better when you think no one is watching."

Elanor smiled ruefully. "Yes, and I don't know why that is."

"You worry too much about what others think of you," he said shrewdly. "That is because you are young. When you reach my age, you will not feel that way. What others think is a matter of complete indifference to me."

"You must care what Galadriel thinks of you," she commented. "And Doria. And some of the others too. Tarwë, for instance." She turned her gaze in his direction in time to see his expression alter subtly at the mention of Tarwë's name.

"Of course I care what the Lady thinks. She has my utmost devotion at all times. It is why I became a Sentinel. To protect Galadriel is the highest honor to which an elf can aspire." A note of reverence had entered his voice, lending him a note of sincerity she could not doubt. This, at least, proved to her that he had some proper feelings.

"No one else?" Elanor retorted, wiping her hands on her smock.

"I care what _you_ think," he retorted with gleaming eyes. "I like you, Ellie."

Elanor almost snorted. "Come, Lurien, you are not fooling me. You do not know me. You look at me and see someone you have not conquered, that is all."

His beautiful mouth twisted into a small smile. "You are delightfully frank. I like that in a maiden. So many play games with words, never saying what they mean."

"I thought you liked games," she said, trying to retain control of the conversation. "Could you pass me that trowel please?"

Lurien did as she requested, his glance weighing her as a hunter might weigh its next victim. "Now what did I do to give you that impression?" His gaze was at once hot and cool, a charismatic contradiction that teased both her intellect and her senses. She could see how some might find him fascinating; he was sophisticated and elegant as well as playful and witty. Yet he also seemed to have a dark, brooding quality that sent a chill down her spine.

Elanor dug the trowel into the earth, turning it while she considered her answer. She had begun to notice a difference in herself of late; she was not blurting out the first thing that crossed her mind, at least not quite so often. She glanced at him, deciding that her only reasonable recourse was to be forthright and that any attempt to match wits with him would be futile.

"What is this power you have?" she asked. "Is it a spell?"

"What power?" he said, chewing on a blade of grass. He gazed back at her without blinking, his expression bland.

She shifted her gaze away from him. "You know very well of what I speak. I have been warned about you, and I felt it for myself. And I will tell you right now, whatever it is you do, I do not like it at all."

"But I do nothing, my dear. At least not on purpose. Whatever you have heard is an exaggeration or a product of wishful thinking."

"I do not believe you, Lurien," she said steadily. "And I will not allow you to use your power on me, so do not try it. My will is as strong as yours. Stronger, even."

Lurien did not move, but something shimmered in his eyes. "Is it, Elanor?" he said, very softly and gently. "How do you know? Each time we meet, you run from me before we can find out."

His challenge hung in the air between them like a dark cloud painted with all the fears and self-doubts she had ever possessed.

Goaded, she lifted her head and drew a deep breath, then deliberately turned and stared directly into his sapphire eyes. "I am not running now," she answered.

At once she could feel it, the unrelenting sexual pull, the call of the sea to come drown in its depths, the inexorable impulse to abandon reason and leap unthinking from the highest cliff, heedless of sharp rocks below. The trowel fell from her nerveless fingers, a deep shudder running through her as she struggled to resist. Desperately, she searched for weapons with which to defend herself from the seductive power of Lurien's assault.

In a dreamlike haze, she saw Lurien shift closer, his hand reaching out to rest against her cheek. "Ellie," he seemed to whisper, though his lips did not move. _You are beautiful, desirable, and cherished . . . precious beyond measure . . . let me love you as you deserve to be loved . . . _

The velvet words resounded like distant bells within her own head. Emotions, strong ones, surged through her with a force for which she was unprepared; yet they were not formless or unreal, but grounded in a reality outside the present situation, tangled not with Lurien, but with Haldir. In sheer panic, she created an image of her own; Haldir's wonderful, proud face and wise grey eyes appeared in her mind, yet Lurien's power slithered past to hammer at her will.

_Elanor . . . sweet, lovely Elanor . . ._

Lurien's face drew near, his unfathomable gaze holding her as effectively as a knot of hithlain. She could feel the warmth of his fingers stroking her cheek, exploring the contours of her lips, but she could not seem to move. In one last attempt to fight him, she conjured up image after image of Haldir, his kisses, his smile, even his frowns. The last of these was the memory of those moments she had been alone with him in her bedchamber in Rivendell. His powerfully built body, the silken fall of his hair, the piercing intensity of his gaze, the boldness of his touch, the way his beautiful mouth had traced its way along her collarbone and downward to her breast . . . the bone-melting memory was so vivid, so incredibly potent . . . that it effortlessly swept away anything Lurien could bring into being. Lurien's magic burst like a bubble in a strong wind.

She shoved his hand away from her face. "You see?" she challenged, her breathing uneven but her voice maintaining its firmness. "You have no power over me, Lurien, so you may as well stop trying. And by the way, you are sitting on that plant and it is extremely annoyed with you!"

Looking rather nonplussed, Lurien stared at her, then started to laugh. He raised himself to a more upright position, his smile wicked. "What do you want me to say, Elanor? Do you reject my offer of friendship?"

"That was _not_ an offer of friendship," she said indignantly. "You were trying to seduce me, right here in broad daylight!"

He did not deny it. "I would have taken you somewhere more private," he corrected with a shrug. "One of those shady little bowers would have served the purpose."

"So you admit it!" Elanor eyed him with astonishment. "You are shameless!"

"Utterly," he agreed, a glint in his eye. "But I hope we can still be friends."

"I do not think so, Lurien. I do not trust you."

"I will make a bargain with you, Ellie," he said in a lazy tone.

"What kind of a bargain?" she asked with suspicion.

His eyes gleamed brighter. "I will not repeat what I just did to you if you allow me to assist you with your archery."

"I need no help. Haldir has shown me what to do, and his brothers have also offered assistance. Practice is what I need." She saw the still look on Lurien's face, and realized that her curtness had offended him. She hated hurting people's feelings, even Lurien's. "What could you possibly do that they could not?" she added.

"What I can help you with," he replied, "is your ability to perform well in front of others. Your self-confidence needs bolstering, my lovely one. When you aim your arrow, you need to believe you are the best archer in all Lothlórien. You need to know that everyone around you is in complete awe of you, and that they are all envious of your ability."

Elanor looked at him doubtfully. "Lurien, that does not sound right to me."

He chuckled. "On the contrary, Elanor, such a strategy will serve you, I promise. The power of the mind is strong. Do you wish to improve or do you not?"

"Of course I do, but—"

"Perhaps you wish to impress Haldir when he returns," Lurien added slyly.

Elanor thought about this. In truth, this was exactly what she desired. She longed to see admiration in Haldir's eyes, and to hear him say how incredibly well she had performed, how proud he was of her. She had thought this only an idle daydream, but perhaps it was attainable?

"When next you practice," Lurien went on, "I will be there. You will see, Elanor. Self-confidence is more than half the battle. Once you believe you are superior, you become superior. What you believe becomes manifest."

Elanor mulled this over for a moment, but saw no threat in it. What harm could it do to try? "Very well, Lurien, I accept your offer provided you keep to your end of the bargain. No more mind tricks with me."

"What I do is neither trick nor spell," he murmured, "but I am unable to explain it in a way you will understand. It is simply part of me, like my hand or my foot."

"Whatever it is, you will not use it on me again," she said firmly.

"Agreed," he said languidly.

"Swear it," she insisted. "Swear it upon Galadriel's honor."

Lurien sighed. "Very well, upon Galadriel's honor, I so swear. Now do you trust me, Elanor?"

"Yes, Lurien, I trust you," Elanor replied.

"Good," he said, with another of his enigmatic smiles.

Later that same day, Elanor stood on a high flet in the city, gazing out at the surrounding view. Its central vantage, elegant carven benches, and pots of flowers made it a popular gathering spot, and it had become one of her own favorite places. She was alone at the moment, feeling pleasantly weary after her labors. She had mulled over her conversation with Lurien, and felt only a faint unease. Should she speak with Rúmil about it?

"Elanor!"

Elanor turned to see Doria hurrying toward her up the nearest set of steps. When Doria reached her, her eyes were sparkling. "I've been trying to find you! Look!" She held out her hand, palm up, displaying a lovely piece of silver jewelry in the shape of a butterfly on a chain. "I found it wrapped in a piece of parchment on my doorstep. My name was written on the parchment!"

Elanor examined it. "It is lovely, Doria. Who is it from?"

"That's just it, I do not know!" Doria sounded both pleased and mystified.

"Can you not guess? Has anyone been paying you particular attention lately?" Elanor did not quite dare to mention Orophin by name. It seemed quite likely it was not he.

Doria shook her head. "No more than usual. I suppose it must be one of the elves who flirt with me, but I cannot guess which one. It would be too much to hope that it was from . . . the one I care for most."

"Orophin," Elanor stated softly.

Doria gave a wavering smile. "I know I am foolish to hope. He has not spoken to me in so long. I must have done or said something to offend him, but I know not what it could be. I have racked my brain about it! And now someone has given me this lovely gift, and if I wear it . . . I fear Orophin will see it . . . and assume I am taken when I am not."

"Do you wish me to ask him?" Elanor offered.

"Oh, no! Please, please do not! I could not bear it."

"Whoever gave you this necklace must care about you a great deal," Elanor said soothingly. "Perhaps it was Orophin. If so, he will reveal himself in time. In the meanwhile, why do you not wear it? Here, let me help you to put it on."

Doria acquiesced, and Elanor fastened the tiny clasp, then stood back to admire the effect. "It suits you very well," she remarked. Indeed, Doria was much like a graceful butterfly in the way she fluttered around.

They sat down together and gazed silently out at the city. Finally, Doria said, "Do you miss Haldir?"

"Yes." Elanor did not hesitate to tell Doria the truth. She was the only friend in whom she had confided her growing regard for the March Warden, though she had not mentioned any intimate details. "I have been having horrid dreams ever since he left. Goblins," she added with a shudder. "Have you ever seen one?"

Doria shook her head. "I have never left Lothlórien." She gave a little sigh. "Do you think he cares for you at all?"

Elanor hesitated. "Perhaps a little, but how much I do not know." It was not something she wished to discuss, so she switched the subject, telling Doria of the card game where Haldir had wagered her services to his brothers. In retrospect, it now seemed humorous. "But he was only teasing me," she added with a small smile. "He knew I was in the kitchen all along."

Doria nodded. "Still, it was very naughty of him." She grinned suddenly. "I have an idea how you could punish him."

"Oh no!" Elanor said immediately, thinking of the last time she had tried to punish Haldir. "I do not think that would be wise."

"Come on, Ellie, this is only a little thing. Do not let whatever happened back in Rivendell destroy your sense of fun!"

"What do you have in mind?" Elanor asked, curious despite her reservations.

Leaning close, Doria whispered to Elanor and the two were soon giggling hysterically. "You see?" Doria gasped, her hand pressed to her chest. "He could not possibly be angry with you for that. I even told him once that he had a big head, and he laughed. And you have to admit it would be very amusing!"

"I do indeed," Elanor agreed, her lips twitching at the image in her mind.

Far away to the north, Haldir stood alone on a flet, scanning the missive that Rúmil had sent via carrier bird. His brothers were keeping a close eye on Elanor and she was doing well save for a bad dream or two. Rúmil hinted that he himself was taking very good care of her, but Haldir read between the lines and knew it was more teasing than serious. If Rúmil kept her engaged and amused, that suited Haldir. Still, there was always a chance that Elanor might fall in love with Rúmil . . . Haldir frowned at the thought. He did not want Elanor to be hurt, nor did he want her to fall in love with anyone other than himself. But there was little he could do about it if she did.

He folded the letter and tucked it away, calmly returning his gaze to the plains beyond the tree line. A few days before, one small party of Orcs had appeared and been quickly dealt with; other than that, it had been quiet. And that meant that Haldir had nothing to do but think . . . about Elanor.

Although he successfully maintained his outward composure, his lips thinned with self-disgust at his inability to control his wayward thoughts. Nature, that was all it was, just as he had said back in Rivendell. Yet nature had never seized him by the throat in such a way as this. His mouth curved wryly. Nay, it was not the throat, but another part of him that nature tormented. Every thought of her, every memory of her face and eyes, her voice and smile, her long dark hair and soft feminine body, brought on this relentless burning that raged within him.

He ached for her in a way he had never ached for anyone, and the time apart had strengthened rather than lessened it. With the passing of the days, all he could think of was his desire for her, how he hungered to take her in his arms and give her pleasure beyond her wildest dreams. And when he took his rest—or tried—he spent the hours shifting uncomfortably, throbbing with hot, hard, unrequited need, imagining that which he should not imagine for his own peace of mind.

To distract himself, he had spent much time brooding over the meaning of the Lady's statement that it was not the action but the intention that defined honor. He was not sure he agreed and that unsettled him. Never before had he disagreed with Galadriel; it was unthinkable. What if one intended to do good, yet failed in the attempt, and some great evil resulted? He had always believed that results were as important as actions. What was the Lady saying? One chose one's actions based on experience and wisdom, and if one chose wrongly, then surely one should be held accountable. But perhaps this was not what she was trying to convey.

Haldir shook his head with uncertainty. If the intention was noble and the result ignoble, should the performer of the deed be held responsible or guiltless? The more he considered this, the more his reasoning went in circles, a humbling experience for one of his years. He had once told Elanor that one could never think too much, but perhaps he had been wrong. His lips twitched at the idea. What his brothers would give to hear him admit that!

His thoughts drifted back to Elanor. It pleased him to imagine her on the archery field, wearing the quiver he had made for her, her mouth set with determination as she aimed the arrow at the target. He had recognized her intense look of concentration; he had seen it often on the faces of those who eventually became the best archers. He thought of how she had practiced with such diligence, even to the point of hurting herself. Seldom had he had a more eager student, yet he realized that her lack of self-confidence and nervousness made it difficult for her to focus while others watched. She would get over that in time. Once she became more comfortable with the motions, the stance, and the watching eyes, she would adjust accordingly and grow proficient, and that would aid her self-confidence. He thought again of how she had looked that first day, and smiled at the memory. He understood her compulsion to excel, for he had been the same way once.

He shifted his position and gazed into the distance, conscious that at almost every moment of each day Elanor claimed a part of his attention. Always at the edges of his mind hovered thoughts of the completion for which he yearned. Always flowing through his head were the words he wished to say to her and which he could not say, at least not while she was his ward. He would have to wait out the year. And what was a year? Nothing at all to an elf. A mere dewdrop in an ocean of time.

Yet never had he been so filled with impatience, not even when he was an elfling awaiting some special treat. It was absurd!

Still, for millennia he had yearned to find someone who made him feel like this, and it had finally come to pass. Perhaps it was no small wonder he was impatient. It was an impatience he would have to restrain.

tbc


	13. Chapter Thirteen

This chapter is very long, the longest one yet, and really could have been broken into two chapters. However, we are giving you the whole thing so please consider it two weeks worth of story. :) I will post more later!

**Chapter Thirteen**

True to his word, the very next time Elanor practiced her archery, Lurien walked on to the archery field just minutes after she arrived. She watched his easy gait as he approached, aware that Rumil, or Orophin, or both was likely to show up at any moment. Lurien must know it too, but he did not look concerned.

"I thought you had guard duty in the mornings," she said when he came up to her. A few elves had come to practice, but for the most part the arena was empty. The wind was calm this morning, and the bright sun shafted down through the mellyrns surrounding the training area, dappling the leaves in golden light. Nearby, a butterfly fluttered at the edges of a sun ray, and the soft scent of grasses wafted on the air.

"The hours of my duties are open to change," he replied with a devastating flash of white teeth, "and they do change just for you, my dear." He stood quite close, gazing down at her with those hot blue eyes, yet he appeared to be keeping his word, for she saw no stirring of his power in them.

"I am still not sure what anyone can do for me at this point," she said. "I know I need to keep practicing. One hour a day, Haldir said." She glanced up at him, curious to see his reaction to Haldir's instructions.

Lurien's head tilted, and she saw the nostrils of his slim nose quiver at the mention of the March Warden's name. "I agree you need practice," he answered smoothly. "And an hour is a good time for a beginner. However, what is more important than how long you practice, is how much you believe in yourself. Let us start with your appearance."

"My appearance!" she echoed. "Why?"

"Because when people look at you, you must believe that what they see is what you are-a work of art. This will help to banish your lack of self-confidence." His gaze ran over her, the corners of his eyes crinkling slightly with his smile. "Shall I tell you what I see when I look at you?"

Elanor tucked the bow beneath her arm. "Lurien, you are flirting with me, not giving me instructions."

"You are not listening to me, Ellie." His crisp tone seemed to have lost its silky charm. "Heed my words. You have beautiful eyes and lovely hair and pretty features. You are elegant and graceful from every angle that I have viewed you. And your arms and shoulders show to advantage when you hold the bow, which you do very nicely. You have no need to feel inferior to any maiden in Lórien. Even Healea," he added meaningfully. "Yes, she is extremely beautiful, but there are times when too much perfection can be . . . boring."

Elanor said nothing. She did not know what to make of this, but she suspected that Healea's rejection of Lurien colored his opinion on this matter.

"Also, and very importantly," he went on, "it is time you started using a training bow. I will bring you one tomorrow."

"But I _am_ using a training bow," she said in confusion, and held out the bow Haldir had given her. She glanced around at the other few elves who had come to practice. None had one as small as hers.

"Did Haldir tell you that?" Lurien said, his lip curled with disdain. "It is a child's bow. It appears I have more confidence in you than he does, for I think you are more than ready for a real bow."

Deflated, Elanor looked at the bow in her hands. A child's bow! Why had Haldir let her believe it was a training bow? Why had Rúmil and Orophin not told her the truth? Did they think she would not find out?

"Have faith," Lurien said quickly. "You are ready. But for today, use the one you have. Now, show me your stance."

Elanor did as he requested, moving her feet into the familiar pattern Haldir had shown her. She glanced at Lurien and saw him nod in approval.

"Good," he said. "Now I want you to say to yourself: 'I am perfect. My arrow always finds its mark. I cannot miss.'"

Elanor lowered the bow. "I feel silly saying that, Lurien. It is not true."

"It can become true if you believe it. You must say it a hundred times a day. Nay, a thousand. When you start to believe it, that is when you will start to see a difference." His gaze fell to her lips. "Just as I say to myself, over and over, 'someday Elanor will let me kiss her'."

She fought a little twitch of laughter as she envisioned Lurien standing before a mirror repeating such absurdities. "Please do not flirt with me, Lurien."

She took a single step away, but Lurien caught her arm. "I am not flirting, Ellie. I am telling you the truth."

Before Elanor could think of a reply, a movement among the far trees caught her attention. Rúmil was striding rapidly in their direction, and even from this distance she recognized the determined, angry set of his mouth. Never had she seen him wearing such a cold expression, as though he were about to do battle with an adversary.

Lurien released his hold on her arm. "Ah, here comes the first obstacle," he mocked. "The self-righteous brother. I will deal with him, my dear." He turned to face Rúmil, his posture stiff.

Elanor glanced at him, taken aback by his tone.

Rúmil arrived with his crystal blue eyes looking icier than usual. "What are you doing here, Lurien? You have no business with Elanor."

"On the contrary," Lurien retorted, "I am here at her invitation. I am helping her." He glanced at Elanor as if demanding confirmation.

"I think not!" Rúmil turned to her. "Elanor? What do you have to say?" He sounded slightly accusing.

She gave him an apologetic smile. "It is true, Rúmil. I agreed to Lurien's presence here."

Rúmil caught hold of her wrist, leading her a distance away while Lurien's smirk grew larger. "What are you thinking, Ellie?" he said in a low, soft voice that Lurien could not hear. "Did not Haldir warn you about this elf?" His fingers were strong, reminding her of Haldir's grip. "He is dangerous to someone like you."

"Someone like me?" she repeated. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"You know what I mean. Haldir does not wish you to associate with that particular elf, and with good reason." Rúmil gaze flicked to Lurien, his jaw taut with displeasure.

"I will spend my time with whom I please," Elanor said, rather indignantly. "Haldir has no say in it."

"No?" Rúmil glared at her. "I would say that is untrue, but we will speak of that later." His narrowed eyes fastened on her face. "Has Lurien tried his mind tricks on you? Speak truly, now."

Elanor hovered on the brink of expressing her outrage at the inference that she might speak other than the truth, but at the last moment she saw the very real concern in Rúmil's eyes. He cared about her well-being, that much was clear, and the certainty soothed her ruffled feelings.

She laid her hand on his arm and lowered her voice even further. "Do not worry about me, Rúmil. Lurien did indeed try his tricks on me, but I resisted him." Quietly, she explained about the bargain they had made.

Rúmil's frown did not noticeably diminish. "If this is indeed what occurred, then I suppose you are safe from his mind games. He would rather die than forswear an oath upon the Lady's honor. Yet I know Lurien, and I cannot agree to leave you alone with him. Haldir would have my balls on—" He broke off, looking faintly embarrassed. "I mean," he corrected, "my head on a platter if I did so."

Long strands of Elanor's dark hair wafted in the breeze, and she shoved them behind her ear with impatience. "You worry for naught," she stated. "I believe Lurien truly wishes to help me," she hesitated for a moment, "although I admit I am at a loss about the reason."

"Exactly my point, Ellie. His motivations are what concern me. Hence, you will heed my advice and be on your guard, is that clear? Orophin or I will be near should you feel threatened in any way." This last sentence was spoken loudly enough for Lurien to hear.

"You are no better than your brothers," Lurien sneered, anger marring his handsome face. "Do not lay your paltry threats on me, warden, for I am unimpressed. Come, Ellie. Ignore that doltish prankster whose only claim to greatness is his ability to tell a joke."

Disregarding Lurien's taunt, Rúmil lowered his voice once more. "Heed my words," he repeated.

Rúmil walked over to the arena fence and leaned against it, his muscled arms folded across his chest as he settled in to watch Elanor's lesson with Lurien. His silvery hair glistened in the sun, giving him the appearance of an angel, but his face was set in forbidding lines most unlike his customary playful attitude. Elanor sighed as Lurien led her toward the target. She wished she could just go on practicing alone.

"What are we going to do about Lurien?" Rúmil asked later that night. He and Orophin sat on a branch outside Orophin's talan, gazing moodily into the open space. Darkness had fallen, but the familiar twinkling lights of the city failed to soothe their concern about Elanor. At least from this vantage, they had a clear view of Haldir's talan and knew that she was safe within.

Orophin's eyes narrowed, his thumb rubbing absently against the smooth mallorn bark while he considered his answer. "I could speak to him."

"I told you I have done that. It did no good." Rúmil's voice was frustrated. "He only mocks us. He is trying to cause trouble and I fear he will succeed."

"We must be careful. He is trying to use Ellie to get to Haldir." Orophin leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees to lean his chin on his hands. He looked very uncomfortable.

Rúmil's gaze slid sideways. "You could ask Doria to speak to him. It would give you an excuse to talk to her."

Orophin shook his head, appalled by the idea. He twisted until he was leaning back against the smooth bole of the tree. "I will not have Doria dragged into this. Besides, Haldir would expect us to deal with it. He put her in our care, and I will not fail him."

"Nor I," Rúmil agreed, absently twisting a small twig in his hands. "Should we tell Haldir about Lurien? That is the real question."

"Aye, I think we must, though it will cause him anger and frustration. Perhaps it will also speed his return." Orophin drew his knees up, wrapping his arms around them as he glanced down at the many walkways below. Only a few elves could be seen at this late hour, and none of them were Lurien.

Rúmil shifted his weight, balancing perfectly without effort as all Sylvan elves could do. "Do you think he loves her?"

Orophin shrugged. "Who can say? Haldir always keeps his cards close to his chest. Much tender care went into the making of that quiver. He never gave Healea such a gift. I think that says a lot."

"I think she cares for him," Rúmil said thoughtfully.

"What does she say?" Orophin glanced toward Haldir's talan, his expression one of thoughtful consideration.

"She keeps her feelings to herself, but I learned that he _is_ the one using the cot. You were right about that."

Orophin looked smug. "Ha, I knew it! We should have wagered on it."

"And he winked at her once," Rúmil added casually. "It must have been that time Telrion spoke of two years past."

Orophin's brows arched high. "Indeed! I have never seen him wink! I find that quite incredible."

"By the way, how progresses your own courtship?" Rúmil said with a nudge. "Found your courage yet?"

"I'm working on it," Orophin said shortly. "Do not change the subject. We are talking about Haldir and Elanor."

"And Lurien," Rúmil reminded with a sigh. "From now on we will have to watch her even more closely than we have been. Lurien derives great pleasure from being a thorn in Haldir's side." He scratched his jaw, thinking this over. "Though I suppose he will hold to his word since he swore upon the Lady's honor. But still I do not trust him."

"Nor I. I suggest we send Haldir a message at once. He may have some instructions. Have you told him of her nightmares?"

"Aye, but in no detail. I think they are growing worse, but she will not speak of them."

"And how does she view you? I noticed several others have been seeking her attention."

"But I am the one she favors." Rúmil flashed a grin at Orophin.

"Perhaps you woo her too ardently," Orophin chastised with a frown. "Have a care, brother. You do not want to cause her pain."

"No fear of that," Rúmil confessed, abandoning his cocky attitude. "She only chooses me because I am Haldir's brother." He smiled slightly. "I flirt with her and she enjoys it, but she lets it go only so far. Not that I've been testing her, but . . . I find it interesting. I would like to kiss her, but I suppose I will not. If she is in love with Haldir, that is enough to quench my ardor."

"Perhaps she will become our sister," Orophin said wistfully. "It would be nice if at least one of us found a life-mate."

"If you would but speak to Doria, that would increase your own chances! This foolish silence does no good!" Rúmil shoved Orophin's foot off the branch, and the elf adjusted his balance without a thought.

"And what of you?" Orophin shot back in annoyance. "Will you never settle down? Is there no one in all of Arda whom you favor above the rest?"

Rúmil fixed his eyes on a far distant talan, barely visible from where he sat, and the corners of his mouth turned up ever so slightly. "Perhaps," he said.

"Who is she?" Orophin demanded in astonishment.

Rúmil turned his head. "It matters not," he retorted. "There is no reason to speak of it. She will never have me."

"I will not rest until you tell me!" Orophin declared.

"Then you will never rest," Rúmil replied. He ignored Orophin's expression and rose gracefully to his feet. "Come, let us go and compose a message to Haldir. Then I will go and check on Ellie."

"Oh, very well," Orophin said grouchily. "I have enough to worry about right now without being concerned with your love life."

"Good!" Rúmil grinned and leaped from the branch back to the safety of the steps. "You dictate while I write."

Haldir wiped black Orc blood from the blade of his sword, his mouth twisted with more revulsion than he normally displayed. He and his elves had successfully slaughtered what appeared to be a small scouting party that had mistakenly thought to slip into Lothlórien during the night. As the first light of dawn began to streak the sky, his wardens carried the carcasses away from the tree-line where they could be safely burned. Ignoring them, Haldir climbed rapidly into the closest tree until he reached the flet built into its sturdy heights. From here, he could see far into the distance; it was he who had spotted the Orc party, for his eyes were keen, even for an elf.

Right now he was furious, simmering with a rage of an intensity he had not felt in a very long time. He had intended to return to the city this day, but now he could not, not until he knew for certain how many more Orcs were out there. He could feel them. They were waiting, biding their time, but they would attack eventually. It could be days, or even weeks. And he could not leave.

Meanwhile, Elanor would be wondering where he was. Or would she? Rúmil seemed to be filling in very nicely for him. And now this latest message had aroused his fury to a fever pitch. Haldir's hands itched to seize Lurien by the throat and throttle him as he had so nearly done to Beredain. Mordor take her, why did she not pay heed to his advice? He had warned her about Lurien!

Haldir ground his teeth together so hard it hurt. He had made up his mind some days ago that the wisest course of action was to move her out of his talan and into one of her own. Now, with Lurien in the picture, could he still do that? Rúmil said she had made a bargain with the obnoxious sentinel! Apparently she had resisted him successfully, and now she thought herself safe, the naïve little fool. Safe until Lurien concocted his next scheme, whatever that might be!

All at once, something she had said came back to Haldir, though why it should do so now, at this moment, he did not know. '_I think I have more strength than you realize, and that you have your share of weakness that you think to hide from everyone. Including me.'_ He could hear her saying this quite clearly, almost as though she stood beside him.

He released some of the tension in his jaw, forcing himself to breathe evenly and think rationally. Now that he had the leisure to consider it, he was surprised that she had been able to fend off Lurien. It appeared his little Elanor had considerable strength of mind. And wisdom, he added silently, if she had forced Lurien to swear upon Galadriel's honor as Rúmil had written. It was likely the only oath that would tie Lurien's hands, and she had somehow forced it out of him. Haldir almost found that amusing, the thought of Elanor bringing the sentinel to his knees. He wondered how she had done it.

Still, the idea of Lurien giving her archery lessons made his blood boil. The moment he returned, he meant to put a stop to it—a permanent stop. In the meanwhile, he would just have to trust his brothers to take care of her. Furthermore, he would have to trust Elanor. She was young and innocent, but she had untapped sources of strength. Look at what she had dared to do to the March Warden of Lothlórien! To have him kidnapped and tied to her bed, that took audacity! When faced with the unexpected shock of his nakedness she had not flinched, even though he was fairly sure it had been her first sight of male nudity, not to mention male sexual arousal. True, he had managed to trick her and free himself, then gone on to intimidate and humiliate her, but she had hidden her fear better than many others he had encountered. Yes, she was young and naïve, but she was also strong and brave and stubborn and willful and wonderful beyond measure.

And he missed her far more than he would have thought possible.

Elanor and Rúmil stood in Galadriel's garden, very near the place where Haldir had kissed her. Rúmil could not have known this when he had chosen this spot to tell her of Haldir's delayed return. She had been watching Rúmil's face carefully as he explained the reason. Three weeks had passed since he had left, and she had been so excited, thinking he would be coming back soon, perhaps even today.

"What does he fight, Rúmil?" she asked. "Is it more goblins?"

Rúmil shook his head. "Not goblins, Ellie. Orcs."

Elanor was silent, trying to imagine what an Orc might look like. "Are they larger than goblins?"

"Aye," he said briefly. "A bit larger. Not much smarter though."

She felt him watching her, his blue eyes patient while she absorbed this. "I've never seen one. Haldir told me they smell."

"They reek," he agreed. "Nasty, evil things they are. You do not want to see one." He took hold of her hand and squeezed it. "You look worried, but there is no need. Haldir knows what he is doing."

"I know." She bowed her head. "I am not worried at all, not really. I have faith in his ability. I have seen him fight."

"Good. A few Orcs are not going to get the better of him. We have fought them many times and we always defeat them." He continued to look at her. "You care for him." It was not a question.

She looked up, unsure whether she wanted to admit it. "Of course I do."

"Sometimes he is away for months at a time," Rúmil said. "Sometimes I am too, and Orophin. It comes with being a guardian of Lórien. Enduring such separations is part of what a couple must face. Some maidens cannot accept that and prefer to look elsewhere for a mate."

Elanor turned away. "How foolish of them," she said with forced lightness. "If one truly loves, one accepts the bad with the good."

Rúmil said nothing for a moment. "I agree with you," he said finally. "I am just telling you something you may not realize."

"I do realize it," she replied, gazing down at the flowers with a heavy heart. "And I also realize that you or Haldir or Orophin could be killed. I am not as stupid or as naïve as you think, Rúmil. But I also know that you are good at what you do. Just as I know that Lurien is good at what he does, else he would not be in the position that he is in."

"Lurien is a skilled fighter," Rúmil admitted, though his dislike of the sentinel came through in his voice. "Overconfident though, and too caught up in the idea of his own superiority. Of course they say Haldir is arrogant, and he is at times, but . . ." Rúmil shrugged. "It is not the same."

She glanced up. "Why does Lurien hate Haldir so much?"

Rúmil wore a look of distaste. "For Lurien, it is always a question of jealousy and rivalry. I know not why he feels it so, this need to feel superior. They both competed for the same maiden . . ."

"Healea," Elanor filled in, when he paused.

"But the rivalry was there long before that," he said. "Perhaps Lurien looks at Haldir and sees what he wishes to become and cannot, for there is only one Haldir. Thank the Valar!" he added with a sudden, mischievous grin.

From there, the conversation grew less serious, due to Rúmil's efforts to lighten her mood, Elanor knew. She responded in kind, for she did not wish to dwell upon her worries . . . or the nightmares that continued to plague her rest.

For Elanor, the next few days passed slowly. There was no word from Haldir, but Rúmil assured her this meant nothing. Very likely they were just standing around waiting for something to happen. Rúmil did not elaborate. He did not need to.

Her daily archery lessons with Lurien continued, and his advice did seem to be helping, at least some of the time. At first she had found the new training bow very difficult, but now she was doing better. And she was definitely hitting the target more often when Lurien stood there and told her that she could and would do it. Even with Rúmil or Orophin watching nearby, their handsome faces stiff with disapproval, she knew she was doing better. Her progress, however, was not consistent, partly because she was so tired and partly because she was receiving too much advice.

If Lurien told her to put her foot in one position, Rúmil or Orophin would tell her to put it in another. If Lurien told her to change the tilt of her head, Rúmil or Orophin said otherwise. If Lurien stepped too close, to adjust her stance in any way, one of Haldir's brothers would walk over and glare at him. It was getting on her nerves, but she did not protest, mostly because she knew it would do no good. She also sensed it was what Lurien wanted, to turn her against Haldir's brothers. And they were all excellent archers, so they must all be right. And where did that leave her?

After six days of nothing, the Orcs at last had attacked. They had chosen daylight, but the party had been smaller than expected, less than three score, and they had all been slain. One elf had been slightly wounded, and one Orc had been captured and interrogated before Haldir had ended its life with a single, merciful stab of his sword. He hated Orcs, but he did not enjoy cruelty, even to the most despicable of creatures. He was simply glad it was over. Experience told him there would be a respite from attack that would last many days, even weeks or months. What little information he'd extracted from his prisoner confirmed this. He was free to return to the city, for there were many other experienced Galadhrim left to keep watch.

Much of his rage had faded these past days, although he was still unhappy about Lurien. Unhappy was not quite the word for it, actually. He had slept little this past week, and was anxious to return home to Elanor. He was still of two minds about keeping her in his talan, though he was leaning strongly toward moving her out, mostly because he so greatly wanted her to stay. He knew he needed to consider what was best for her and not himself. This was the honorable thing to do. She might be his ward, but he was under obligation to teach her, guide her, show her how to improve herself. He should be encouraging her to spread her wings and soar, not chaining her to his nest. Her needs were more important than his own.

Such thoughts occupied him while he walked swiftly through the forest toward Caras Galadhon. And so the day wore on, the shadows of evening following his footsteps as the forest slowly darkened into dusk and then evening. The birds settled down, and only the owls hooted their greetings as he passed. His stride lengthened, the path widening as he neared the city. It occurred to him suddenly that he would be in time for Orophin's begetting day, which meant that he could give him the gift, the tunic made by Doria. It was a thought that cheered him. The light of the stars rose high, glittering over his head in a blanket of frosty diamonds, pinpoints of light against a velvet sky. He strode up the embankment and stopped for a moment to gaze at the lights of the city before him, nestled in the safety of the trees. Only another hour and he would be home.

Elanor lay in bed, her eyes wide open, staring into the darkness. This past week had been the worst so far. Ever since Rúmil had told her what Haldir faced, the nightmares had grown more terrifying. She was not afraid for Haldir, not when she thought about it objectively. She knew he was strong, a skilled warrior, and that he would take no unnecessary chances. She had confidence in him.

Yet for reasons she did not understand, her mind played games with her while she slept, creating darkness and terror. She had not even dared to rest the past two nights, but now her body cried out with need for it.

She wished she knew when he would return. To distract herself, she imagined what it might be like to sleep cradled in Haldir's arms. That brought sweeter thoughts to her mind, thoughts of pressing her lips to his and sliding her hands over his muscled shoulders and . . . as always she tried to stop here, but seldom succeeded. All too easily her imagination stumbled forward, envisioning what it might be like to touch him, really touch him, to watch his face as she gave him pleasure, to see him lose control in the throes of ultimate passion, to make his body burn and melt beneath her hands . . . she shivered in secret delight at the idea. Surely she could do this if she had the chance. Someday . . . perhaps . . . for now she pushed aside her doubts.

The aching warmth of the fantasy stayed with her for a little while, then began to fade as she grew sleepy. If only she would dream of Haldir making love to her instead of goblins. What a lovely dream that would be, of him covering her with his beautiful body, his mouth taking firm possession of hers. The tantalizing vision stayed with her as she gradually slipped into reverie . . .

By the time Haldir passed through the gates of his city, the night was half over. He shifted his bow as he nodded to the guards, his pace quickening with his eagerness to see Elanor. She would be asleep, and of course he would not wake her, but to see her face once more . . . he could hardly wait. He was even more anxious than he had expected, his pulse practically tripping over itself in anticipation. Just to stand there and look at her while she slept would be enough.

To his surprise, he found Rúmil sitting on the steps outside his own talan. "What are you doing here?" he asked with a frown. "Is something wrong with Elanor?"

Rúmil rose to his feet, appearing a little weary to Haldir's perceptive eye. "Nay, she is well . . . except for the nightmares. We knew not when you would return so Orophin and I have taken turns sitting here while she rests. I wanted to warn you before you went inside. I think they have grown worse this past week." Rúmil's gaze flicked down to the black blood on Haldir's tunic. "Did all go well?"

"They attacked and we slew them," Haldir said, brushing this aside with a slight gesture of his hand. "It is over until the next time. What is it she dreams of?"

"Goblins, she says." Rúmil shrugged. "She will say no more than that."

"And what of Lurien?" Haldir asked evenly.

"He continues to teach her, but he praises her too highly. He tells her she is doing well even when she is not. He hovers over her. And he gave her a training bow."

Haldir's brows rose. "Was she ready?"

"Aye, I think so. I was about to give her one myself, but he did it first, then tried to make her believe we thought her incapable." He rolled his eyes. "Fear not, she has not been left alone with him. Orophin and I are always there, watching him at every moment. He likes it not," he added with a small grimace, "but he pretends he does not care. I know not what his scheme is, but he is up to something."

Haldir moved forward and set his hand on Rúmil's shoulder. "I thank you for your vigilance. Go now and take your rest. I will deal with our friend, the sentinel."

Rúmil nodded and left on soundless feet, while Haldir turned and went into his talan. He would take a long, satisfying look at Elanor, then he would strip and wash, something he had not yet taken time to do since the battle.

Something woke Elanor, a small sound. A knock? No, a tapping of some sort. Light and quick.

She lay still, breathing shallowly, straining to hear. Had Haldir returned? Could it be him?

No more sounds. Nothing. Yet there had been a sound.

She should go and see what had caused it. Bidden by some extraordinary compulsion, she sat up and set her bare feet upon the floor. Slowly, she stood and began to walk . . . and found herself facing Haldir's wardrobe. She stared at it, feeling strangely motivated to rearrange his clothing. Everything should be in order when he returned. Everything should be perfect.

She opened the wardrobe and looked at his tunics, which now shared a space with her gowns. She frowned. Despite the darkness, she could see that some had fallen. How had that happened?

A scarlet tunic lay in a crumpled heap. Where had it come from? He did not wear scarlet. Had Doria made a mistake? She bent and picked it up, bewildered by the color. She stood still, holding it in her hand, gazing at it, looking for holes or rips, but it bore no evidence of damage or blood. No blood. Just a scarlet woolen fabric. Soft and beautiful. Regal, even.

She stepped forward to hang it when she heard another sound. Not a tap.

A giggle.

Her heart stopped. Horrified, she saw the clothing in the closet begin to undulate, and then a pair of eyes appeared between the rippling folds of fabric. Glowing red eyes filled with malicious mischief.

With a gasp, Elanor dropped the red tunic and opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came out. Whatever it was, it was crawling out of the wardrobe, its leering grin revealing pointed little teeth. She turned to flee, but there was another in the doorway, and another across the room. Terror seized her as more and more of them appeared, scuttling across the floor like drunken roaches, scampering and prancing in all directions, but where they came from she did not know. Eyes glittered in the darkness, the room filled with spidery shadows dancing in circles, twisting and babbling in some senseless language.

Misshapen humps lurched beneath the blanket on the bed, black faces peered from every corner, gazing down from the ceiling with eyes like red coals . . . Oh sweet Elbereth now they saw her . . . they were all watching her. Closer they came, inching forward with lewd grins spreading to reveal darting tongues. They crawled from under the bed and out of the wardrobe and from the direction of the terrace. Terrified, she took a step, but was blocked by groping hands with sharp, filthy nails, clawing and clutching at the hem of her nightdress, coming closer, ever closer . . . The mad giggles filled her ears and still she could not scream.

Wildly, she looked around for some kind of weapon, but saw nothing. She kicked at one of the small black bodies and heard a sickening crunch, as though she had stepped on a huge beetle, but it only rolled and shook itself, its lips pulled back in a grotesque grimace. How many were there? Dozens . . . and only one of her . . . Something grabbed her ankle, coiling around it, something slimy and wet . . . Again she tried to screech aloud, but nothing happened, no sound would come.

Now her bow was in her hand, but she had only one arrow. What good was that when there were so many? Her hands shook as she tried to aim at whatever had her by the ankle, but it was no use . . . no use . . . something was trying to creep beneath the skirt of her nightgown, tiny crablike hands were squeezing and pinching at her calves. Without warning, the bow and arrow faded into thin air. She kicked out frantically and ran toward the bed, leaping upon it, trying to get her back against the wall . . .

Goblins pursued her, scrabbling onto the bed and pulling on her legs, forcing her to lose her balance and fall on top of them. Now she was screaming, she could hear it at last, her own voice breaking through the stillness of the night. Their hands were on her, pulling her hair, ripping and shredding her nightgown, squeezing and biting at her flesh. In a mad frenzy she fought, kicking and punching violently while wild, mindless cries tore from her throat . . .

"Elanor!"

A huge goblin loomed over her, larger than all the rest. Was it an Orc? She tried to punch it in the face as it bent over her, but it captured her wrists, pinning them down. She kneed it as hard as she could in the groin . . .

"Oof . . . Elanor, wake up!"

"Leave me alone!" she cried, still struggling fiercely.

"Elanor!" Something was shaking her . . . someone . . . and suddenly the goblins were gone and Haldir was there instead. Even in the dimness, she could see his concern. "Elanor, whatever you fear, it is not real," his low voice soothed. "You only dream. You are safe, do you hear me? You are safe."

"Haldir," she panted, taking in great sobbing gulps of air. "You are here? You are really here?"

His eyes searched her face as he leaned over her, his hair forming a silvery curtain in the dim light. "I am here, Elanor. I returned a short while ago. I thought to let you rest, but—" He released her and sat on the edge of the bed, lifting her up and into his arms.

Her teeth chattered as she huddled against him, her heart still pounding as she tried to form a coherent thought. "I am f-fine," she tried to say.

"Yes, you are," he murmured, rocking her back and forth as she clung to him. "Nothing is going to harm you. I am here. It was naught but a dream."

"Goblins," she disclosed, her body still shaking.

"I know. Rúmil told me."

"Oh, I am so ashamed," she confessed, her eyes squeezed tightly shut.

"Ashamed?" He drew back enough to see her face. "Elanor, why?"

"Because . . . you and Rúmil and the others . . . you go out and fight Orcs and . . . and other horrid things . . . things that are real. You are so brave. And me . . . I have a dream . . . and look at me . . . afraid of things that are not even real . . ."

Haldir drew her close once more. "You are too hard on yourself. Dreams can be terrifying. I've had them myself."

"I fought them," she whispered, her mind full of dark images. "They came out of the wardrobe and—" She broke off and glanced nervously around the room, knowing it was foolish. "They weren't real."

"They weren't real," he agreed, and kissed the top of her head.

She shifted slightly, and all at once realized that his chest was bare, its pale skin smooth and comfortingly warm. "You aren't dressed," she said unthinkingly.

"I was about to bathe." His voice was calm, which further helped to bring her back to reality.

She pulled away, suddenly and acutely conscious of his nakedness. "Oh, well, I am sorry I disturbed you. Do not let me keep you."

He gave a small laugh. "I would not leave you except I probably stink. I will return very soon. Can you manage alone for a short time?"

"Of course." She looked into his eyes, unsure what he was asking. He must have read her thoughts, for he added, quietly, "I plan to stay with you until you are calm. I am going to light the lamp. Its light will help to drive away the shadows."

She realized he was warning her in case she wished to close her eyes, but she did not. She watched him attend to it, his magnificent body stunning and perfect and radiant as marble in the lantern's glow. She saw him glance down at her, a peculiar tautness in his face, then he turned and went into the bathing room. A moment later she heard water running down from the storage drum on the roof.

Elanor closed her eyes and rolled to her side with a smile. He was coming back to her! The comfort of that knowledge chased away the lingering remnants of the horrid dream. Everything had shifted to the way it should be. He was here, with her, and nothing else mattered . . .

She felt the bed move before she realized he was there, slipping beneath the sheet with his usual grace and economy of movement. He had removed the braids from his hair, which spilled over his shoulders like molten silver gleaming with the iridescence of the stars. The woodsy scent of his soap clung to his flawless skin.

"Elanor," he said softly. Just that one word, her name, but the way he said it seemed significant.

"Welcome home, Haldir," she whispered. She gazed at him, feeling oddly bashful when but a moment before she had been excited. What would happen? What should she do? What was in his mind?

Their faces were close, their eyes meeting in a moment that seemed timeless and magical. She studied his features, and without thinking she lifted a hand and traced a fingertip over first one and then the other of his dark wing-like eyebrows. She saw his questioning look. "I love your eyebrows," she explained shyly. "I have wanted to do that for a long time."

His mouth curved into a smile so sweet it stole her breath. "I love your nose," he said. As if to prove this, he leaned forward and kissed its tip. "And your lips." He kissed those too, very lightly, then drew back, restoring the distance between them.

She smiled and began to relax. "Well, I love your eyes. And your eyelashes. I wish mine were as long."

"My turn?" he said teasingly. He touched her chin, and she thought he was going to say something about it, but instead he leaned close and put his lips near her ear. "I love your breasts," he whispered, his voice husky and seductive.

Elanor blushed with pleasure, and tried to ignore the sudden blaze of heat between her thighs. "Not too large?" she said, with a touch of anxiety, for she recalled how much bigger she was than Healea.

He laughed softly. "Utterly perfect. You are beautiful, Elanor." She looked uncertainly at him, but he seemed sincere. To hear such words from him was like a dream come true.

"I love your nose," she said, trying to match his playfulness.

"Not too large?" he replied, a little ruefully.

"Perfect," she said, and kissed its tip. "You are beautiful, Haldir."

He laughed again. "Shall we go on until we run out of parts? Although I will have you know that one of my most important parts is still recovering from that well-placed blow you delivered. It was not the welcome I had hoped for."

"Oh no!" Elanor's eyes widened as she realized what he meant. "I am so sorry!"

"Worry not, Elanor. I forgive you."

Elanor's blood strummed as she considered what might happen next, but he made no move to kiss her again or to come closer. Instead, he only gazed at her with that endearing little half-smile that made her want to leap up and dance.

"Haldir, do you respect me?" she asked after a few quiet moments.

"Of course I respect you, Elanor." A tiny frown furrowed his brow. "Why would you ask me that?"

"Despite the dreadful thing I did to you in Rivendell? Even though I scratched you and slapped you when you were helpless?" Her voice quavered at the thought of her own despicable action.

"Despite that," he agreed. Was there a smile in his voice?

"But it was a dreadful thing to do! Why do you respect me?" she asked, her voice small. "I do not understand."

He covered her hand with his own. "Because you have many admirable qualities worthy of respect."

"Such as?" She held her breath.

"Such as courage," he said.

It was the last thing she expected him to say. "After the way I behaved tonight? Why do you think I have courage?"

"Because when the goblins were real, you were prepared to protect Galadriel."

"How did you know?" She blinked at him with astonishment.

"The Lady knew. She told me. But there are other reasons, Elanor. You showed courage in the way you have adapted to your new life here. You show it each time you challenge me."

"But you do not like it when I challenge you," she protested.

"Sometimes I do not," he admitted. "And sometimes I do not object. I would not have you be a mindless puppet with no will of her own."

"Oh." Elanor pondered this, feeling rather pleased.

He reached out and adjusted a lock of her hair, tucking it behind her ear. "And you have strength. Not so much physical strength, but inner strength." He hesitated, as if about to say something else. "And loyalty. You showed that when you defended your sister with such . . . tenacity."

"An unwise decision," she sighed. "I was very foolish."

"Perhaps, but if you had not done what you did, you would not be here now."

Elanor's heart leaped. "You are glad I am here?" she asked hopefully.

"Of course I am glad." His tone suggested that was obvious. "Your stubbornness is another quality that can serve you well."

Elanor opened her mouth to say that she was not stubborn, then thought better of it. "What do you mean?"

"I mean you do not let yourself give up. It is what will carry you through the challenging times in your life. It is what will enable you to achieve that which you may find difficult. Such as practicing hours and hours on the archery field because you want to hit the target more than you want to rest your arm and your body when you are aching and weary."

"I thought you disapproved of that!"

"I did. It was not wise. But I also admired you."

"You admired me?" Elanor echoed in wonder, "even while you disapproved. Oh, Haldir, that makes no sense. You confuse me."

"I could often say the same of you, Elanor. You are feeling better now?"

She felt him shift, and knew instinctively that he was about to leave her.

"Wait," she said, reaching for his arm. "Don't go. Stay with me. Please."

Something between them changed; the air grew heavier and thicker the way it did before a storm. Haldir had stilled, his warm breath close to her cheek. "What are you asking, Elanor?"

"Kiss me," she whispered. "A real kiss this time, not like the one in the garden."

Amusement flashed in his eyes. "You didn't call that a real kiss?"

"I know you can do better," she said huskily.

"Better, eh?" He raised himself up on one elbow, looming over her like a deity in the lamp's glow, so beautiful he took her breath away. His face was thoughtful and calm, but his pupils looked larger and darker than usual. "Sweet Elanor," he said simply. And then, almost to her surprise, the distance between them melted away, and his mouth covered hers . . .

It began gently enough, a light touch, yet within moments his tongue was pushing between her teeth, insistently demanding entry, and she opened to him with a moan she made no effort to suppress. It was the most aggressive kiss she had ever experienced, full of hungry uncivilized power, a sublime seeking that awakened her body and battered her senses with waves of excitement. Her fingers burrowed into his hair, then slid down the strong arc of his neck and around to his chest, where she searched out his nipples, caressing them to a stiffness that drew a low, faint rumble from his throat. As if in answer, he rose up on one forearm and pressed her into the mattress, his mouth cleaving to hers while he plundered her mouth like a conqueror.

At last he drew back, his eyes dark with passion as he gazed down at her, each of them breathing heavily, then he retook her lips, exploring with gentle nips before driving deep into her mouth once more. Their tongues rubbed and stroked each other, mating in what seemed like a perfect duet, but something else was not right. Each time she tried to touch him intimately, he caught her hand and returned it to his chest. Each time she tried to press against him, to wrap her legs around him and bring their bodies more fully together, he forestalled her. In fact he had moved his knee forward to block her, to keep their lower bodies separated despite her efforts to the contrary.

At last the kiss ended. He raised his head, gazing down at her with a smile that held a shard of mischief. "Was that any better?" he said, a glint in his eye. He seemed almost composed, completely in control of himself, but his voice held a husky edge that told her otherwise.

"Much better," she gasped, "but do not stop." Again, she tried to wriggle closer to him, but to no avail. "Haldir, what is wrong? Why do you not let me touch you?"

"Elanor, we cannot go on," he said gently. "We should stop here."

In answer, she seized his hand and tried to tug it toward her breast. Too many nights had she lain here aching and yearning for him. And now he was here, she would not cling to pride when she knew she would regret it later. Surely he could not mean to end it here? To leave her burning for him in this way? It was too cruel.

"Touch me just a little more," she begged. "Please. I know you have others you can go to . . . I have no one else. No one but you."

"I go to no one else," he murmured, his eyes holding hers almost fiercely. "Not since you have been here. Did you not know that? It is true," he added as she gazed at him in wonder. He reached out to smooth her hair, and something in his face changed, as though he had just come to some decision. "Very well, sweet Elanor, I will touch you if that is what you truly wish?"

"Yes," she said in a rush. "Yes, that is what I truly wish."

He smiled tenderly. "Then it would please me very much to give you ease."

He kissed the corner of her mouth, then her cheek, followed by her brow and the tip of her nose. Did he not understand what she was asking? And then she knew that he did, for his hand came to rest on the underside of her breast, curving around its fullness through the thin fabric of her nightdress. Gently, he moved around and over her softness as if learning her contours, allowing his palm to press against her nipple in a slight circular movement that brought forth another gasp from her lips. Eventually he moved to the other breast and did the same, then his hand shifted to the new blue ribbon that secured the neckline of her nightdress.

He smiled, a wicked curve of his lips. "Now what's this? A reinforcement against invasion? A bit late for that, my sweet." With dexterous fingers, he untied her chaste little bow, his gaze fixed on the excited rise and fall of her chest as he stretched out the neckline. "You know, there was a reason why I did not order you a new nightdress," he added teasingly. "I liked it the way it was before, when it was almost falling off you."

He lowered his head and feathered kisses along her jaw, then nibbled his way down her throat while his fingers slowly pushed aside the fabric, the pads of his fingers heating her with their light touch. There followed several more of those deep, deep, soul-searing kisses, then the lazy downward sweep of his lashes told her what he intended next . . .

Excitement shot through her. Her breasts were still covered, but that did not prevent him from pressing his mouth against her, kissing her right through the nightgown. To her delight, his tongue found her nipple, his mouth drawing it against his teeth while she arched and whimpered in pure ecstasy. When she reached upward to yank down the fabric, he chuckled and took her once more in his mouth, suckling and tugging first one and then the other nipple while his hand roamed across her stomach and the curve of her hip.

The thorough exploration of her breasts occupied him for some time, until she thought she would go mad with wanting more, then he suddenly dragged up her nightgown, his breath harsh against her face. His fingers explored her bare hips and thighs, creating a tingling trail of fire, yet when she widened her legs, it was his wrist that he used, pressing it against her most sensitive area and rocking slightly in a side-to-side motion. It was exquisite, that rocking pressure, and she instinctively raised her hips and pushed back in order to increase the sweet agony of pleasure.

He gave another low chuckle. "You like that, Elanor?" he murmured, his golden voice as seductive as honey.

"Oh yes!" She lifted her lashes, her heart doing a little flip-flop at the sight of him. Never had he looked more beautiful than at this moment with his face so relaxed, his eyes filled with genuine caring and delight that he was pleasing her. His silvery hair draped loosely over his shoulder and onto hers, its softness a delicate touch with every movement.

All too soon his hand shifted, but her protest died on her lips as his fingers slipped lower and began to delve into her most secret places. She arched and writhed under his skilled caresses . . .

"Let go, Elanor," he murmured soothingly. "Relax. I'm not going to hurt you. I know how to take you where you wish to go. Let me be your guide. Trust me. That's it, darling. Relax . . ."

Whatever he was doing, the feeling was intensifying . . . slow, sweet tendrils of sensation expanding outward like some huge, blooming flower with pure fire in its center. With vast expertise, he was stoking that fire, adding kindling with every deft movement while she panted, ragged whimpers coming from her throat as she strained to get closer to the flames. Her eyes were half closed, but she knew he was watching her intently, taking in her responses, interpreting each of her quivers and gasps. Somehow they seemed to tell him what to do, where to touch her, and how fast or slowly to caress in a perfect throbbing cadence of movement.

It was building, the pleasure, escalating higher and higher, and, oh sweet Elbereth, how she wished he were soaring along beside her, but he was not, he was only giving without taking. Even at this moment, she tried to stop and reach for him, wanting so badly to touch him, but he did not allow it, and she was lost . . . lost . . .

Her body convulsed, exploding in a series of powerful shudders that ran from her head to her toes. She cried out his name as wave after wave of pure pleasure rolled over her, pleasure of a thundering intensity the likes of which she had never known, nor dreamed possible. Very vaguely, she was aware that he was smiling.

"Good?" he asked softly.

"Oh, my!" she panted, a sheen of perspiration covering her entire body. "Oh, Haldir, that was . . . oh my! . . . so much better than . . ." She stopped, embarrassed to complete the sentence.

He gave a low laugh. "I know, Elanor. Much, much better. Believe me, I know."

"It was wonderful," she said dreamily.

He looked down at her with a satisfied smile. "I meant it to be wonderful." He leaned closer. "And it can get even better than that. You have much to learn."

"Will you be the one to teach me?" she asked daringly.

"Perhaps eventually, when the time is right." His hand rested on her hip almost possessively. "That is entirely up to you."

She studied him, taking in his expression. "You speak as though you think I might choose another."

"Anything is possible, Elanor." He leaned forward and kissed her, a mere grazing of the lips. "Now you must rest. You are very tired."

"I am not that tired. Haldir, I still want to touch you."

"No," he said, his voice light but firm.

"I think you would enjoy it if I did."

He smiled wryly. "I am sure I would, but that is not the point."

"You told me before how uncomfortable this is for you, to be in a situation such as this and not to . . . to . . ."

"That is true, Elanor. However, tonight I made a choice and I intend to abide by it. I chose to give and not to take. It is not easy, but I will survive."

"You have too much self-control," she sighed. "And please do not tell me that one can never have too much self-control."

He laughed. "Very well, I will not say it. Go to sleep, Elanor. You look exhausted. I will stay with you, if you like."

"Yes, please stay," she murmured sleepily. In truth, she was extremely drowsy, an aftermath of the overpowering sensations she had just experienced.

And so it was that she slept in his arms that night, her cheek pressed against the warm solidity of his chest. No goblins dared to come to her that night.

As for Haldir, it was a long while before he found rest, for he had to wait for his own fire to dissipate, using every ounce of his self-discipline to extinguish it through willpower alone. While he waited, stoically and patiently, he watched Elanor sleep, gazing at her face with a mixture of satisfaction and wonder while he thought about what he had just done.

He had not abandoned honor, he told himself again and again. He had comforted her and cared for her needs, which were very real and very important. He had taken little for himself except the vast enjoyment of watching her reach the pinnacle of pleasure, which she had done so sweetly and delightfully that even now he felt awed. To have been the first to have touched her like that, that was an honor. It was also a memory he would cherish forever.

"Rest, my love, my Elanor," he murmured when he knew she could not hear. "Tomorrow we will talk."

tbc (feedback appreciated!)


	14. Chapter Fourteen

**Chapter Fourteen**

"Good morning, Elanor." Haldir sat at his table, a welcoming warmth in his eyes as she entered the front room. He had put on a clean pair of leggings and a black undertunic, and had set out their food while she rose and bathed. Together, they would break their fast as they had done many times before, but on this morning it was different.

Elanor seated herself, her smile slightly self-conscious with the memory of their shared intimacies during the night. "Good morning," she said softly. "Did you rest well?"

"I did." His gaze roamed over her face as if trying to read her thoughts. "What of you? No more goblins?"

She smiled and shook her head. "They would not dare to visit with you there."

"I think we may have found the cure," he replied, rather mischievously.

Elanor tried and failed to conceal her laugh. "A pleasant cure," she said a bit shyly. "One I am still willing to share with you."

His hand moved to cover hers, his thumb stroking gently over the delicate bones of her wrist in a way that sent a flurry of sensations through her body. "I am honored to know it," he said. "We will speak more of that and of other things as well, but first let us eat. Orophin came by with fresh bread, and the strawberry jam is delicious."

Elanor nodded, and for a short while they shared the quiet peace of their morning meal while a light, sweet breeze sifted through the windows. She asked him about his fight with the Orcs, and he explained in a few sentences that made light of the battle while at the same time giving her the basic facts. He did not apologize for his delayed return, at least not in words, but his manner made it clear that he regretted it.

Afterward, they went out to the terrace and sat upon the bench set in the midst of the flowers she had been tending. She clasped her hands in her lap and gazed at him, admiring the inherent strength in his face and the ageless power of authority that surrounded him like a mantle. At the same time she thought she had never seen such gentleness in his eyes.

He set his hand over both of hers. "Elanor, I think it would be wise if you moved to another talan. I have been considering it for some time."

Of all that he might have said, this was what she least expected. "Why?" she asked, her voice dazed. "Because of last night?"

"Because I think it would be best for you." His voice seemed tighter, beset with a control that was at once familiar and new. "You might prefer it. You know your way around the city now. You have friends you might like to invite without having me there. You might wish to pursue a relationship with someone. I am willing to give you that freedom."

It came to her, in a flood of understanding, what he was trying to do. She leaned forward and looked him squarely in the eye. "Is that your preference? Is it your wish that I leave?"

"It is not a question of what I want," he said, gazing back at her steadily. "As your guardian, I must consider my duty. Lord Elrond wishes you to learn from me, but he also wishes your spirit to run free. Those were his words. I do not wish to keep you in a cage."

"Please, Haldir, answer my question. Do you wish me gone from your talan?"

His grey eyes stared into hers, and in them she saw a flicker, as though he debated whether to speak the truth. Then one corner of his mouth twisted. "No, of course I do not."

"Then I will stay," she said calmly. "I like it here. I want to be with you as much as I can. You are gone a great deal as it is."

A tiny frown appeared between his dark brows. "Elanor, are you sure?"

"Yes. And if you do not like the cot, you are welcome to join me as you did last night." These last words came out more boldly than she intended, and by the end of the sentence she was blushing again.

His mouth curved into a small, very attractive smile. "You cannot know how much I would like to do that." He paused. "I care for you, Elanor. I would have you know that it is more than just . . . lust on my part. Much more."

Her heart skipped a beat, then began to hammer hard. He was watching her closely; she could see him waiting for her response. "I know," she said rather breathlessly. "I care for you too, Haldir. Very much."

His posture changed ever so slightly, a relaxing of tautness that told her without words how much her answer pleased him. Things had definitely changed between them. He was not bothering to hide everything from her as he had at the beginning. No longer did he seem so completely impassive and emotionless, although she was certain it was a state he could resume in an instant if he chose.

"You were never far from my thoughts these past weeks," he said.

She lifted her eyes. "Nor were you far from mine."

His head tilted. "I hear you have been spending much time with Rúmil," he remarked, his tone so casual that she knew at once where his thoughts lay.

She hid a smile. "Your brother is charming and attentive and protective, and I like him well. But he is not you. I prefer you to all others, Haldir."

It was as close as she dared come to telling him the strength of her feelings, but from the rather amazed look on his face, it seemed she had said exactly the right thing. She wondered if anyone had ever said such words to him before.

"So you no longer find me insufferable?" he asked with a gleam of humor.

"You were never insufferable," she admitted. "Of course," she added, her tone growing playful, "I do not say that you are never exasperating or opinionated."

He laughed. "Well, I would not want to ruin my reputation completely." His smile faded to a sterner look. "Indeed, you may not like the next thing I have to say."

Elanor braced herself. "Is it about Lurien?"

"It is. Did I not warn you about him?" he asked. "Why did you not heed my words?" His voice held an undercurrent of steel.

She lifted her chin. "Because he was beginning to be a problem. And in order to retain my self-respect, I needed to solve the problem myself. I cannot always look to others to protect me, Haldir. Perhaps I would be no good in a fight against goblins or Orcs, but Lurien is only an elf. And he does have honor in him, regardless of what you think."

"You defend him without knowing him," Haldir told her with a frown. As she opened her mouth to argue, he lifted a hand. "Yes, Rúmil told me of the oath, and that he will uphold, I do not doubt. But Lurien has long hated me. And since you are my ward . . ." He left the rest unspoken.

"I have not confided in him or encouraged him," she pointed out. "I have only allowed him to help me with my archery."

Haldir's lips compressed. "I do not approve of him helping you. I wish it to stop at once." It was the old Haldir speaking, the one who issued autocratic commands and expected them to be obeyed on the instant and to the letter. Yet she could see that he was making an effort to speak fairly.

Anxious to make him understand, she placed a hand on his thigh. It was warm and unyielding beneath the tight fabric of his leggings, hinting of the great strength in the rock-hard muscles beneath her palm. "I agreed to let him help me," she informed him patiently. "It was part of our bargain. To withdraw from that bargain does damage to my own honor."

"It was a foolish bargain!" His smoky gaze pierced her, but his tone was resigned rather than sharp, and she knew he was granting her a small victory. She also knew that doing so did not come easily to him, that he was showing her a side of himself that others seldom saw.

She struggled to respond with well-chosen words. "Perhaps so, but it was made. Yet I agree that there must be an end to it and I will find a way." She beseeched him with her eyes. "Haldir, why did you did not tell me I was using a child's bow? You said you were going to give me a training bow. When Lurien told me, I was so embarrassed."

His scowl faded to a startled look, as though it had never dawned on him that she might feel that way. "For one of your strength, the bow I gave you _was_ a training bow." Looking contrite, he again took her hand in his. "I am sorry, Elanor. I never meant to mislead you. My only excuse is that I am unused to explaining myself."

"You are forgiven," she whispered, and saw his gaze soften. Far from the dangerous and brutal elf he had seemed when first they met, she was seeing far more of what lay beneath the layers of hardness. "Will you tell me more of what happened between you and Lurien? Perhaps then I will know enough to be able to make wiser decisions and judgments. It may even help me to find a way out of this bargain."

Haldir glanced down, his lowered lashes concealing his thoughts. "What have you heard?"

"I know about Healea. I know you fought each other because of her."

"That is only part of the story." He gave an almost inaudible sigh. "Many centuries ago, Lurien desired to be a warden. I have heard it was an obsession with him, that it was all he had wanted since he was an elfling. As chance would have it, we were both tested at the same time, pitted against each other by the luck of the draw. Only I passed the test." He gazed into the distance as though he looked into the past. "I could feel his disappointment and profound shame. It was almost palpable. We had never been friends, but we were not foes either. I wished him well. I thought he wished me the same. But when it was over and I spoke to him, he spat at my feet and walked away. From that day forward, he has been my adversary in all things."

"Does Galadriel know this?" Elanor asked in dismay.

"I assume so," he replied, his thumb absently rubbing against hers. "She has not said so to me, but that means nothing. The Lady knows the minds and hearts of all who live in Lothlórien."

Thinking this over, Elanor gathered her courage for her next question. "Will you tell me about Healea?" she asked timidly. "Did you love her very much?"

He looked down at their clasped hands, and for an instant she thought he would not answer, that the memory caused him too much pain to speak of it. Then he glanced up and she saw that his expression held no signs of anguish, but only quiet regret. "I did not love her, Elanor, not in the way you mean. I cared for her, I was faithful to her, but it was not love. We were together for a time, that is all. I do not dwell on it."

"Yet you fought for her," she pointed out, carefully observing every tiny fluctuation in his expression.

"I did not fight for Healea," he corrected. "Healea was free to choose another if she wished. We were not bound."

"Then why did you fight?" she asked in confusion.

Haldir's eyes narrowed, and in them she saw the glittering coldness of a warrior. "I answered Lurien's challenge. I am March Warden of Lothlórien, Elanor. I cannot afford to have Lurien undermining my authority behind my back." He shook his head slightly, as though to clear it of residual anger. "I know there are those who believe we fought over Healea, but Lurien knows better. Still, that my sword ended up at his throat was an empty victory, for in that dispute there could be no victor. Except, perhaps, Cothion," he add wryly.

"The one she chose over both of you." Elanor could not imagine choosing anyone over Haldir.

"She chose wisely," he said, his face relaxing into a slight smile. "Cothion is a good elf and a great scholar. Wise and learned."

Elanor leaned up to place a kiss on his cheek near the corner of his mouth. "I am very glad she chose another," she told him softly.

Their eyes locked, and she saw his gaze slide downward to her lips. His hand came up to cup her cheek, a warm and tender pressure, then he bent and brushed his lips against hers. The grazing touch could scarcely qualify as a kiss, yet it was so erotic it sent a hot wave of trembling weakness through her limbs. "Haldir," she whispered.

"Sweet Elanor," he murmured. He exhaled a long breath and rested his forehead against hers. "I am going to finish dressing, then we will go to the archery range so you can show me what progress you have made."

She nodded, trying to breathe normally as he rose to his feet. Hugging herself, she watched him cross the terrace and enter the sleeping chamber while she remained where she was, her emotions churning. His tone told her that his words were genuine and that he truly had not loved Healea. Yet he had cared for the cool and beautiful elleth who had not yet deigned to visit Elanor despite her spoken intention to do so.

A queer sound interrupted her thoughts, a kind of muffled exclamation that could almost have been a curse. Then Haldir's voice rang out quite clearly . . .

"Elanor, come here, please."

Leaping to her feet, she hurried after him, then stopped dead, her hand clapped to her mouth. Haldir stood before the wardrobe, but she could not see his face. He had pulled a grey tunic over his head and it was stuck precisely where it was meant to be stuck, its altered neckline causing it to stop right in the middle of his forehead. Only the top of his head and brow had made it through the opening.

"I seem to have a problem here, Elanor," he said in a conversational tone.

"Oh, no . . . oh my!" The words escaped her lips only an instant before she dissolved into helpless giggles. "Oh, Haldir, you look . . . oh my, you look so . . . so funny!"

He reached up and yanked the tunic from his head, sternness and laughter chasing each other across his handsome features. "Is this your idea of a joke?"

Elanor shook her head, laughing so hard the tears began to run from her eyes. "N-not exactly," she gasped, her hand pressed to her breast. "It was Doria's idea. I was supposed to save it for the right moment. I was to tell you that . . that it proved you had a big head. Oh dear, I did not mean for you to put it on today!"

Perhaps it was the look on his face, but she could not seem to stop giggling. "I'm s-sorry. It is not funny, I know. A ward should have more respect for her guardian."

"Then why are you laughing?" He was smiling now, a faint curve, but she saw the glint of wickedness in his eyes as he stalked toward her.

"Eek! Haldir, no!" She began to back up, but bumped into the door frame as he grabbed her around the waist. She squealed as he spun her around, lifting her easily off the floor as he held her against him.

"Are you ticklish?" he inquired. "I will give you a good reason to laugh, Elanor."

"Haldir, no! You said you had a sense of hum—oh, stop!" Elanor shrieked as his fingers dug into her ribs, and tried to defend herself by grabbing his hair.

"Oh, no," he warned, "not the hair. I thought we had learned that lesson, you and I." He turned her around to face him, then captured her wrists and backed her against the wall. A teasing smile played on his lips as he inquired, "So what useful information has Elanor of Rivendell learned today?"

Elanor lifted her chin. "She has learned to plan her jokes with greater care," she told him saucily.

Haldir's eyes gleamed. "Indeed," he agreed, "that is valuable knowledge. Now I will try once more to clothe myself, then perhaps you could braid my hair before we leave. Are there any more surprises my ward would like to tell me about?"

"No," she said meekly. "No more surprises."

"Good. Then I will free you . . . after you pay the penalty." He bent down and kissed her, not a light kiss this time, but one that was deep and demanding, though all too swift for her liking. He released her wrists, his good humor apparent. "Mmm, that was very nice."

"Indeed," she agreed, and wished he would do it again.

She watched him pull another tunic from the wardrobe, contentment washing over her in a huge, warm wave. She only hoped she could successfully hit the target and make him proud of her. She also hoped that Lurien would not be there.

When they reached the field, there were few others in sight and no sign at all of Lurien. Haldir was pleased, for he did not wish to address the Sentinel in front of Elanor unless circumstances forced it upon him. What he had to say to Lurien would not be pleasant or fit for her ears.

Very quickly he saw that she had lost her focus while he was gone. She was hitting the target more often, yet at the same time her stance and movements were inconsistent and unpredictable. He quickly saw the problem, for each of her would-be instructors had his own unique habits and techniques. Each had given her advice corresponding to his own personal style developed over many years of successful application. But although each piece of advice worked for Elanor some of the time, she switched and mixed the three without realizing it, and that resulted in her failure to attain any kind of consistent result. It also meant that she was hitting the target more by chance than by design.

He explained this to her as gently as possible, adding, "My brothers and Lurien each have their own style. They have made adaptations over the centuries, choosing what worked best for them. That first day I showed you the basic stance, the one for beginners. Do you remember what I told you?"

She moistened her lips, her blue eyes uncertain. "You told me many things." He could see that she had lost confidence, but he felt it important to be honest with her.

"I said that you must pull the string back each time the same way, over and over, until it is done effortlessly and without thought. You are not doing that. You are thinking instead of feeling." He smiled at her expression. "Yes, this is one time when thinking serves you ill. Repetition and practice, that is what will bring success."

Elanor's shoulders slumped. "Lurien said I have to believe in myself." And yet she did not, that was plain to see.

"I agree. You must believe in your ability to learn. You must believe that your body and muscles are capable of adapting to this new activity. Over time, with practice, you will improve. Seek what is inside you, Elanor. And practice until the bow is a part of your arm and the arrow flies without thought." He set his hand on her shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. "You can do it. I know this and so do you."

She lifted her eyes. "Thank you," she said quietly. "You have helped me already."

Haldir nodded. While he knew he had the ability to inspire others to achieve, her words touched him deeply. "I will stay and watch," he said. "Try to concentrate and forget I am here." The look she gave him made him smile. "You can do it," he added.

And so he leaned against the rail and watched, keeping quiet so as not to distract her, although he knew she was very aware of him. Only once did he walk over and help her adjust her grip on the bow, and within a short time he saw a slight improvement. In the meantime, he took the opportunity to drink in the sight of her, his heart warm with the knowledge that, despite the unfortunate circumstance of their first meeting and all he had said and done since then, she cared for him. He had not had time to think on it since she had spoken the words, but now that he did, he found himself going over and over them in his mind—what she had said, and what he had said, and what it all might mean.

He had wanted to say a great deal more, but he had known he must not, that it was too soon. And he was not so sure he knew his own mind or heart, although he knew he was excited in a way that went beyond the physical. Right now he felt almost as though he had stepped back in time to when he was a callow young elf cast into confused delight each time a maiden looked his way. Yet even then he had not been impetuous, and in matters involving females, he had learned to exercise nearly as much caution as he did in battle. Since Healea, he had been doubly careful with his relationships, keeping them as pleasant and uncomplicated as possible. It had been enough . . . until now. Now he knew he had to reevaluate himself and what he wanted.

He kept his eyes upon her, watching the way she held the bow, how she pulled back on the string, how she held her shoulders and how the outline of her body displayed against the backdrop of the trees. And while a part of his mind was evaluating her archery, another part was remembering her scent and how soft and sweet she had been to touch. He thought of how she had smiled and touched his face, and kissed the tip of his nose in the most tender way imaginable. She cared for him! And he cared for her also. More than cared, if truth were to be told. And he would sooner cut off his hand than hurt her in any way. When he looked at her, all his protective instincts rushed to the fore. He wanted to safeguard her, please her, nurture her . . . His jaw hardened suddenly. He would not let Lurien touch her.

From the corner of his eye, he spotted Rúmil walking toward him through the trees, and with a glance at Elanor, Haldir left his post and strode quickly across the open ground to meet him. "The three of you have managed to completely confuse her," he said without preamble. "Did you not realize this?"

Rúmil looked abashed and a bit annoyed. "Aye, I realize, but Lurien began it with his foolishness. Orophin and I tried to compensate, and I fear we did it poorly." He looked over at Elanor. "Lurien tries to build her confidence with false compliments and praise. You know what he is trying to do, do you not?"

"To challenge me," Haldir said, his voice curt. "To make her think poorly of me. To force my hand."

"Aye. I also think he has guessed she is an innocent," Rúmil said, adding with rare tact, "and that he seeks to, er, rectify that situation."

Haldir glanced back at Elanor, who was gathering her arrows. "He will not have that chance," he said grimly. He could feel Rúmil's eyes on his face.

"What if she grants him that chance? She seems most insistent on her right to choose her own friends."

Haldir turned back to Rúmil, gazing into his brother's keen blue eyes. "She does have that right, but she will not choose him." He folded his arms, letting several seconds slip by before he added, as casually as possible, "She cares for me." It seemed a great step to speak of it aloud, if only to his brother. Of course, to tell one brother was to tell them both.

For once, Rúmil did not tease him. "And you care for her also," he stated, as though it was the most obvious development.

"I do. And I appreciate that you have been protecting her."

"And will continue to do so as long as necessary."

Haldir nodded, touched by his brother's words. "I wish to arrange a small celebration for Orophin's begetting day next week. I plan to invite Doria."

Rúmil's brows shot up. "That could be good or it could be disastrous."

"I am aware of that. I think we must leave it up to her to decide whether or not to attend. I also thought we might have it in that small garden he likes, the one with all the lilies. Can you arrange it?"

"I will do it," Rúmil replied. He grinned suddenly. "Give Elanor my regards. And perhaps the kiss I never gave her."

Haldir smiled slightly. "I might do that."

Elanor reached carefully under the rose bush in front of her, easing under the sharp thorns to pull away the small bits of leaves and odd debris that had accumulated there. She smoothed the soft soil with her fingers, enjoying the sensation of the damp loamy earth beneath her hands and the heady scent of the roses so near her face. Wiping her hands on a cloth, she admired the delicate, multi-hued blooms that adorned the bush. She loved working here in Galadriel's garden, and she felt that the garden had only grown more beautiful with her attention.

She sat back on her heels and gazed around with contentment, remembering how Haldir had kept her company yesterday while she worked. He had read to her from a book of poems, written long ago by an elf who had since departed to the west. The poems had been lovely, and lovelier still was hearing them delivered in Haldir's rich voice. He did not gush flowery sentiments, but the fact that he had sat here, and read to her, and that they had enjoyed the peace of the garden together had been far better. After a time, he had lain in the grass beside her and closed his eyes, his fingers linked behind his head, one knee raised. And at one point she had leaned down and lightly kissed his brow, then gone on with her work, aware of the very faint smile curving his lips. It had been the most perfect, most idyllic moment in her life thus far.

Elanor folded her hands in her lap and closed her eyes to better breathe in the perfumes that wafted on the air. Roses, hydrangea, lily-of-the-valley . . . each flower, vine and plant had its own distinct scent. Combined, it was a floral blending that would always remind her of this garden, and of Haldir.

"You are hard at work, Elanor."

Elanor turned with a start. Healea stood nearby, holding a full-sized bow of the Galadhrim and wearing a full quiver of arrows on her back. She wore a knee-length tunic reminiscent of the type worn by Haldir's wardens, and a long grey Lórien cloak. "Do you never rest? I hear you come here every day." She gazed at Elanor with her fine brows slightly arched.

"I suppose you could call it work, but I find it pleasant and relaxing." Elanor brushed a strand of hair from her cheek and rose to her feet, aware that there were smudges of dirt on her face. Next to Healea, she knew she appeared graceless and disheveled, but she held to her dignity, saying, "It is pleasant to see you again, Healea. I admit I expected it to be sooner."

Healea looked amused. "I have been much occupied with some translations these past weeks. I did come by once or twice, but each time you had company so I left." She glanced around with a critical air. "Galadriel's garden has never looked so fine. That is a testament to your skill. But I wonder why you do not remove the faded blooms from those roses. They remind me of mortals, and I like them not."

Elanor looked down at the rose bush, instinctively reaching out to touch a reassuring finger to one small wilting bloom. Indeed, it was past its prime, just barely holding onto its petals, but she could not bear to destroy it. Yes, they were like mortals as she imagined them to be, creatures who grew to beauty, full of vitality and strength, only to fade as their brief lives drew to a close, dimming as the shadows of their days grew long. Yet in her heart she was certain that even the old ones had value and a certain kind of beauty . . . as did this rose. Beneath her fingertips, she could feel its gratitude, its lingering joy in its state of continued being. The plant would know when it was the rose's time to die. It would then let go.

She glanced back at Healea. "I do not remove them until all their life is spent. The Lady Galadriel and I spoke of this, and she agrees."

"Do you not cut them and put them into water for the pleasure of viewing?"

"I do, and have. In such cases, the rose derives pleasure from the knowledge that it contributes its beauty and fragrance to a noble cause. The bush accepts that on occasion its children may be removed in order to give joy. Treated well, a cut bloom's life can still be long. However, I will not cut one only to cast it off as useless."

Healea merely looked at her. "You are a nurturer, Elanor. I am not. I am a pragmatist and a scholar. I have no patience with plants, nor do they speak to me." She adjusted the strap of her quiver, shifting it higher on her shoulder. "As you see, I am headed to the archery range. I hear you are often there of late."

Elanor bent to gather her tools, setting the assorted objects into a small basket. "Yes, Haldir is teaching me archery. His brothers and Lurien have been helping as well." She concealed a sigh, remembering how much help they had been.

Healea laughed. "I can imagine the conflicting advice those three would give. And what is this business of Lurien? I do not imagine Haldir wishes him to help you. Do Haldir's wishes not concern you? You are his ward and subject to his bidding."

Elanor stuffed the dirty cloth into the basket, glancing warily at Healea. She had not actually seen Lurien since Haldir's return, but she was not going to explain this to Healea. "Of course Haldir's wishes concern me," she stated, "and I respect them."

"I am surprised he has not forbidden you to go near Lurien."

"He tried." Elanor picked up the basket and began to walk toward the end of the garden.

Healea kept pace with her. "You ignored him?" she prodded.

"He is my guardian, Healea, not my owner! I have given him my reasons for allowing Lurien to help me. He accepted them."

Healea studied her intently. "You amaze me, Elanor. I have known Haldir a very long time, and I can tell you that he seldom yields, especially on matters to do with Lurien. Perhaps you misunderstood him."

Annoyed, Elanor halted. "I am quite aware you know him well, Healea."

Healea also stopped. "You are wondering about my relationship with him?"

"Not at all," Elanor said, her voice steady and rather cool.

"Indeed you are, though you are too proud to ask. So I shall tell you that Haldir and I are still friends, but we are not close. We were ill-suited even when we were lovers. At one time I cared for him, but now my love is given to Cothion."

Remembering what Haldir had told her of Healea's faithlessness, Elanor looked away from that beautiful face with its rather piercing gaze. "It must have been a difficult time for you," she said tonelessly.

"Yes." Healea's voice barely changed. "I suppose I should tell you what happened so you can understand more about the conflict between those two." She began to walk slowly, and this time it was Elanor who followed. "I had known and admired Haldir my whole life." She flashed Elanor a look that held a strange mixture of emotion. "You must remember that this was many centuries ago, but of course we elves have long memories. Over time I decided that Haldir and Lurien were the two most handsome and worthy elves in Lórien. I also knew they were rivals and that I could have either one of them. I chose Haldir."

Elanor bit her lip while Healea continued, "But I found I did not like him being gone from me for weeks or months at a time. The spark between us faded, and I began to wonder if Lurien might suit me better after all." She neared the garden's entrance and stopped. "I decided to find out. Unfortunately we chose our time and place poorly. Haldir returned at a moment that proved inconvenient."

Healea's lips quirked. "Lurien drew his sword first, I recall quite clearly. He was partially clothed, and would have fought Haldir right here in the Lady's garden, but Haldir forced him outside, and there they fought. All the years of rivalry and resentment culminated in that single moment. The fight was brutal." She paused. "Haldir prevailed. He had Lurien on his back in the dirt, the tip of his sword at his throat. I remember seeing a drop of blood, and I could see Haldir's fury, the way his control held by a thread."

Elanor set down her basket, and wrapped her arms around her middle, watching Healea's face as she spoke. She could imagine it so well that it sent chills down her spine.

"Lurien has never forgiven Haldir," Healea added. "And I lost interest in them both after that. Eventually, I grew to realize that Cothion fulfilled all my requirements."

Healea looked back into the garden as though gazing into the past. "Cothion is my mate. He is a scholar, trained by Elrond himself. But he knows me. He knows what I am and what I am not." Her gaze returned to Elanor, her eyes flicking over her from head to toe. "You are different from what I expected. I thought you would be a brazen little hussy. I thought you had tried some kind of foolish trick to attract Haldir's attention, and that your trick had gone awry." She pushed open the gate. "And now I must go and polish my skills for the archery competition next month."

"Archery competition?" Elanor repeated. "I have not heard of it."

"It is for ladies only, and is held each year by Lord Celeborn." Healea gave an odd smile. "I hear you've been using a child's bow."

"Not any more," Elanor replied, trying not to sound defensive. "My strength and skills have improved. I now use a training bow."

"Good." Healea's mouth curved. "It will make you eligible for the contest should you decide to enter. There are only a few of us who do. You might enjoy it, Elanor. Think about it." With a nod that seemed slightly mocking, she turned and left, striding silently down the path and out of sight.

Elanor watched her leave, torn between the conviction that Healea's intentions were kindly and the niggling suspicion that she was up to something. But what?

Orophin lay in the tall grass, his feet upon a large rock, his eyes fixed upon the rustling golden leaves above his head. Nearby, a rippling stream played a merry tune as it meandered on its journey. "He actually told you this?" he repeated, staring up into the high branches as he absorbed what his brother had just said. "You mean he simply offered this information without you having to pry it out of him?"

Rúmil perched on a branch above him, holding a small stick that he chose this moment to launch at Orophin, hitting him directly on the nose. "Aye, that is what I said. Were you not listening? He said the words, brother. He said she cared for him and he for her."

Orophin snatched up the stick. "I do not think he ever made such a statement about Healea. Or anyone else, for that matter."

"That is my point, you dolt! This is a first!" Rúmil laughed and ducked the stick that flew at his head.

Orophin sat up and looked around for something else to throw. "Did he say anything about your so-called courtship of Elanor?"

Rúmil shook his head. "Nay, I think he knew I was not serious. It was a good idea, but unnecessary. I think our brother has his head on straight for once."

"Does our brother know about this mystery elleth you prefer above all others?" Orophin asked with slyness.

"No one knows," Rúmil said simply. "Nor will they ever."

Orophin laughed. "You call me a coward, yet at least I cherish hope. I have given Doria a gift!"

"I am no coward," Rúmil retorted. "I am simply being realistic. She likes me, we are friends, yet I am the opposite of what she wants."

"How do you know this? Does she confide in you?"

"We talk." Rúmil broke off a dead twig and stuck it in his mouth. "She think I am not serious enough. And you know me. I am never going to change."

Orophin sighed. "Perhaps she is the one who will change."

"Have you talked to Doria yet?" Rúmil inquired, skillfully changing the subject.

"Almost. I saw her this morning. But we did not speak."

"For Mordor's sake!" Rúmil exclaimed. "What is _wrong_ with you? Just walk over and talk to her!"

"She was not wearing my necklace," Orophin said dismally. "And she was talking to Rion. Smiling at him. It looked like she was flirting with him."

Rúmil rolled his eyes and threw another stick at his brother. "Then compete with him, you fool!"

Orophin caught the stick. "If I do, what will you give me?"

"What do you mean what will I give you?" Rúmil said suspiciously.

"I want the identity of your mystery love."

"No," Rúmil said emphatically. "Not a chance. That is a silly offer."

"I know," Orophin agreed. "But I am curious."

"I should never have told you," Rúmil grumbled.

Orophin smiled. "But you did. So that must mean you want my help."

"It absolutely does not mean that. And if you ask me again, I will go directly to Doria—"

"No!" Orophin said sharply.

"And I will say 'Orophin loves you!' right to her sweet little face!"

Orophin leaped to his feet and grabbed his brother's leg, tugging him off the branch and to the ground. Laughing uproariously, the two brothers wrestled, for the moment forgetting such maudlin problems as females.

Tarwë and Nerwen occupied a bench formed from the roots of the greatest of all mallorn trees, that which bore the home of the Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn. Leaves rustled overhead, the familiar sound comforting Tarwë as she waited patiently for Lurien to appear.

Only Nerwen knew the truth. Only Nerwen knew how Tarwë suffered inside while pretending to everyone else that Lurien did not matter to her. She laughed and giggled about the males and Lurien as though her heart were free. Even Gwirith did not know, and certainly not Doria. She and Nerwen were older than the others, and they shared secrets no one else knew. They had each had a secret for a very long time now that tied them together in a close bond of friendship.

"At least we know he is not with Elanor," Nerwen remarked.

"Yes," Tarwë agreed. She kept her slight frustration from her voice. She did not blame Elanor at all; the Rivendell maiden did nothing to encourage him. Lurien could never resist a challenge; always he had to conquer, to get the better of someone in order to feel worthy. But that was not why he sought Elanor, or at least that was only a part of it.

Tarwë understood him better than anyone. It was why he needed her, though he pretended he did not. It was also why they had such a curious relationship. Many long years ago, he had confided in her on a night he had been feeling particularly disturbed and vulnerable. Neither of them had ever referred to it again, but she had never forgotten. Since then, all these many long years, she had observed him, analyzed him, and come to understand all the subtle and devious workings of his mind. She knew his needs, his wants, his ambition for recognition and glory. She knew his secrets and his failures and his many weaknesses.

"Here he comes," Nerwen said in a low voice. "Shall I go now?"

"Yes, thank you. He will speak more frankly if you are not here."

Nerwen rose gracefully. "You ought to give him a good slap," she said tartly. "That might set him to rights."

Tarwë sighed. "Perhaps I will," she said softly. "Someday."

Nerwen slipped quietly away as Lurien completed his descent down the steps and emerged into the clearing where Tarwë sat. He caught sight of her and paused, looking a little startled, though he quickly recovered. "Tarwë," he said, sauntering over to her amiably. "My love, what are you doing? Are you waiting for me?"

"Yes," she said, patting the bench beside her. "Will you join me for a moment?"

With a quirk of an eyebrow, he swung a long leg gracefully over the bench and faced her. "I am at your service, dear one," he said with his usual suaveness. "What may I do for you?"

"You may tell me why you have been avoiding me these past weeks," she said calmly.

He gave her one of his sizzling smiles. "Avoiding you, my love? That is not true at all." Almost in contradiction he reached out and took her hand, squeezing her fingers as if to convey apologies he did not mean to make aloud.

She withdrew her hand. "Do not lie to me, Lurien. It is quite clear to me what you are after, and I must admonish you. You are too fine an elf to continue on this path."

"What path?" he said, his gaze guileless. "You speak in riddles."

She met his blue gaze without flinching. "You know of what I speak. You and I share a kind of link. You know this, yet always you deny it."

Lurien's smile faded. "You and I have shared great pleasures, Tarwë. I was your first lover, and that means much to you. Are you now jealous that I seek others in your stead? You have had other lovers too, and I do not protest."

"Nay," she said quietly. "I am not jealous. You know that."

He waved his hand. "Then what is amiss with you? Why the long face? I prefer to see you smiling, love. You are so lovely when you smile."

Tarwë felt herself losing patience. "Leave Elanor alone," she warned. "No good will come from that pursuit. She is no more than a tool to you. You only seek to provoke the March Warden's wrath. Let this rivalry go, else it will eat you alive!"

Lurien leaned forward, his blue eyes narrowed to icy slits. "You are wrong, Tarwë. I can vanquish him. I only seek the chance to prove it."

"Then challenge him to prove it!" she snapped. "Why play these games?"

His face relaxed into a seductive smile. "You are worried about me."

"Nay, I have faith in you," she avowed, quite truthfully.

Her faith in him was important to him. She knew he remembered that other fight, the one he had fought because of Healea, where he had ended on his back in the dust with Haldir's foot on his chest and Haldir's sword pressed to his throat. Lurien had never recovered from that humiliation, though he himself had been the one to cause it. And he had come to Tarwë for comfort. It was the only time she had ever seen him completely and absolutely crushed. That was the moment she had fallen in love with him, and her love had never wavered, not in all the many long years that had passed.

She knew also of that other time Haldir had bested Lurien. It had been long before she was born, but she had heard the tale, both from others and from Lurien himself. She knew he remembered that day as though it was seared into his memory like a hot iron on flesh . . .

Lurien and Haldir were both to have been tested, each seeking to prove themselves worthy of becoming wardens of Lothlórien. But by the end of the long grueling trial, only Haldir had succeeded. Lurien had somehow lacked the necessary long-range attunement of the senses necessary to become a protector of the borders. Lurien had pretended to recover quickly from his failure to be made a warden, at once redirecting his ambitions into becoming a Sentinel, a position to which he was well suited. Tarwë was proud of him, but she knew he had never been able to forget the humiliation of that other failure. For some reason, he blamed Haldir, for the two of them had been matched in competition during the evaluation. Even then, Haldir's skills and senses had been exceptional, which had made Lurien look inferior by comparison. Worse, Haldir had gone on to attain the heights of distinction and become March Warden, a position that allowed him to wield much power and assume much responsibility. Lurien was still a Sentinel, no more and no less.

"Shall I come to you tonight?" he asked, a shimmer in his eyes. Every so often he tried it on her, his special talent, that extraordinary innate ability to tap into a female's insecurities and weaknesses and draw on them for his own purposes. But she was impervious, and she took that as a sign that they were meant to be together. In her heart, she believed he did too.

She looked at him coolly. "For what purpose, Lurien? To make me forget what you are trying to do? It will not."

"It might," he said playfully. He never bothered to deny her accusations, but instead attempted to distract her with the strength of his charm. He was manipulative and petty, yet Tarwë clung to her belief that there was nobility and good in him as well. There must be, else the Lady of Light would know it and take action.

"I doubt it," she said. For a moment, she fought her desire for him, then immediately felt herself weakening. "But if you wish to, I would not say no."

He slipped his arm around her waist. "I did not think you would," he whispered. "You are quite right. We have been apart too long and I have missed you. In fact, I want to take you now, right here on this bench. I am hard and ready. Give me your hand, Tarwë. There, do you feel how much I want you?"

She freed her hand, her breath caught in her throat as it always did when he said such things to her. His sexual appetite was strong, a perfect match for hers. "I should deny you. You are wicked and shameless. You do not deserve me."

With a laugh, he nuzzled a hot, open-mouthed kiss into the curve of her neck. He was unready to admit that he belonged with her. How long would she have to wait? In her heart, she knew that if the day did not arrive when he yielded, if he chose someone else, the grief would come to her and she would fade. Did he know this? Could he possibly not know it?

"You must have patience," he murmured, almost as though he knew her thoughts. "I have things to accomplish. You agreed to this."

"I never did," she protested in a faint voice.

"Your heart agreed." He rose to his feet, the expression in his blue eyes veiled by slightly lowered lids. "I will come to you, my love, after I bathe and dine."

Tarwë bowed her head as he walked away.

"Ellie!" Doria caught up with Elanor as she climbed the steps to the talan she shared with Haldir. "Do you have a moment?"

Elanor turned, intending to ask if they could speak later, for she was weary and still needed to wash and cook dinner. Then she caught sight of her friend's face and changed her mind. Doria looked miserable. "What happened? What is wrong?"

"It is Orophin!" Doria glanced around, as though to be certain they were not overheard. "I saw him this morning!"

"And?" Elanor prompted.

"He looked away. I did not have the necklace on because . . . I did not know who gave it to me . . . and then I saw Rion, and he came over to speak to me. He always flirts, and is most amusing, and I laughed at something he said. And then I saw Orophin and he looked at me just for an instant, and then he turned and walked away. And now I know for certain that it was not he who gave me the beautiful necklace!" Doria looked ready to burst into tears.

"Oh, Doria," Elanor said, much distressed. She took hold of her friend's hand and squeezed it. "I am so sorry. But perhaps you are leaping to conclusions that are not true."

Doria nodded stoically, then forced out one of her good-natured smiles. "I suppose I might be. It is still a mystery unsolved. And I suppose I will learn the answer eventually."

"Shall I try to solve the mystery?" Elanor offered. "I would be happy to help."

Doria looked hesitant, her fingers twisting together as she considered. "Do you think you could do it without letting anyone know how I feel about Orophin?"

"I think so. Shall I try?"

"Yes, but you must promise not to tell anyone what I have told you. Will you promise?"

Elanor nodded. "You have my word."

"Very well, Ellie. I trust you, and I give you leave to make inquiries for me." Doria grinned suddenly, looking a little sheepish. "I feel much better now. I suppose I am overreacting. I hope you will not laugh if I say you are like the sister I never had and wished I did."

"I feel the same," Elanor said quietly. An image of Lana flashed through her mind, then faded quietly away.

Taking leave of Doria, she entered the talan, glancing over at the plants as she headed toward the kitchen. All three plants were thriving, but the elanor plant had nearly doubled in size since its relocation, and several new star-shaped blooms had burst open since Haldir's return.

She went over and touched it with gentle fingers. "You are happy here," she whispered. "Happier than you have ever been before. You feel loved."

The elanor plant assured her this was so.

tbc


	15. Chapter Fifteen

**Chapter Fifteen**

Elanor's hand rested lightly on the crook of Haldir's arm as they strolled beneath the mellyrn trees of the Golden Wood. It was afternoon, and they had left the city, for Haldir wished to show her some of his favored sights and places. Several days had passed since Haldir's return.

"Haldir?" Elanor said casually, as they walked along a sunlit path.

"Yes, Elanor?" He glanced down just as she glanced up, a melting moment of pure bliss that almost emptied her mind of what she wished to say. Yet she had made a promise to Doria, and she meant to follow through on it.

"I have a question," she stated, watching the way his mouth curved ever so slightly when he looked at her.

"What is it?" he asked, his brows lifted.

"It concerns Doria," she said. "She has received a gift."

"A gift?"

"An anonymous gift. A necklace. Do you know anything about it?"

He gazed down at her. "I did not give it to her, if that is what you are asking."

"No, I did not think that," she said quickly. "But do you know who might have given it to her?"

"I might. But if the giver wishes to remain anonymous, would it not be wiser to respect that and stay out of it?"

Elanor bit her lip. "Perhaps. But Doria would like to know."

"Doria should be patient," Haldir replied imperturbably. "I am sure that whoever gave it to her will reveal himself when the time is right." He came to a halt and took hold of her hand, redirecting her attention to the left. "Here we are, Elanor. This is the place I spoke of."

Thoughts of Doria fled her mind as Elanor took in the pond nestled within a ring of boulders and trees, its water sparkling where the sun slipped and slid off the tiny, playful ripples. "Oh, how lovely," she breathed. "You come here often?"

"When I can." He drew her forward toward a flat rock near the edge. "I often swim here. The water is warm."

An image entered Elanor's mind of Haldir and herself in the water, together and alone and naked. "Are we going to swim today?" she asked, a little shyly. Her heart beat faster at the thought.

"No, not today. But we can sit here and put our feet in the water while we talk."

"Very well," Elanor said, relinquishing her daydream for now.

They soon sat side by side on the rock with their feet in the sun-warmed water, Elanor with her skirt pulled up to her knees, and Haldir with his leggings rolled halfway up his muscular calves. The day seemed especially beautiful to Elanor, for the sky was a clear cerulean blue and the breeze held the warm, heady, floral scent of late spring.

Elanor glanced down. Although Haldir seemed lost in thought, he had placed his hand over hers, and she studied it, noting its size and strength and well-shaped beauty. She thought about how much older he was than her, and all the things he had seen and done, and what he did with those perfect hands. Those nimble fingers could fashion the delicate details on the quiver he gave her, they could give pleasure beyond her wildest dreams . . . and they could kill. It seemed almost more than she could comprehend. She turned her own hand over and laced her fingers with his, a movement that seemed to draw him from his thoughts, for he glanced down at her with a small, quick smile.

"Elanor," he said, "I think it is time you spoke to me of your sister. I sense a deep sadness in you concerning your family."

Elanor looked away. She had told him that her mother came from Mirkwood and her father from Rivendell. She had explained that her parents were visiting her mother's sister for a number of years, but would eventually return to the land of Lord Elrond. She had purposefully not said very much about Lana.

"I am very different from Lana," she said evasively. "Just as you are different from your brothers." She glanced at Haldir, and encountered a steadfast look that asked but did not demand a further explanation.

Elanor sighed. "It hardly makes sense. You see, my mother is very beautiful and wonderful, and my father worships her. They are so much in love that . . . their attention tends to be exclusively on each other. I had their attention when I was a child . . . sometimes . . . but when Lana came along . . . she resembled my mother so strongly . . . I think that may have something to do with it," she ended dejectedly.

"To do with what?" Haldir asked gently. His thumb stroked hers very lightly.

Elanor swallowed, and was a little surprised to realize she was near tears. She shoved them aside, saying, "Their preference for my sister. Oh, I know that sounds self-pitying . . . they do love me, I know. But they never understood me because I was not like them. I was quiet and predictable and rather shy. I tended to go off on my own and not speak . . . mostly because I was listening to the trees and the flowers and plants . . ." She lifted her feet from the water and stared at the water dripping off her bare toes. "Lana always demanded attention. What little they had they gave to her. I was expected to do the same and I suppose . . . that is why I became the way I did."

"You centered your life on your sister as a way of gaining your parents' favor."

"I expect so. I never thought about it like that before. It was merely what was expected of me. I do not blame my parents," she added hastily. "I am joyful that they have each other. Their love is strong . . ."

"And selfish," Haldir added critically.

"I would not say that," Elanor said defensively. She removed her hand from his.

"Elanor," he said quietly, "Lana is appallingly spoiled. For them to have allowed this situation demonstrates that they did not do their duty by either of you. I understand your need to defend them, but you should not. They are at fault."

Elanor struggled between her loyalty to her parents and her feelings for Haldir. She did not like to hear him say such words, yet her heart knew them to be true. It had become a habit with her to pretend that all was well within her family, and that she was satisfied with the way things were. But a seed of dissatisfaction had been growing inside her for a long time, a rebellion she had wrongly aimed at Haldir because she lacked the ability to deal with it or understand its root cause.

"Being a parent cannot be easy," she said in a low voice.

"Perhaps not, but I know that when I become a father, I will love my children equally. I will not favor one child over another." His voice was firm and unequivocal; he appeared to have none of the self-doubts that plagued her.

Elanor kept her eyes on her toes, knowing that her face was turning pink with the thoughts that swirled in her mind. "So you think you will be a father one day?"

"That is my hope," he answered. "First, I must find my life-mate, the one who will be the mother of my children and the love of my life."

Elanor bit her lip, hoping he would not turn and look at her and see her betraying blush. "Of course. And I hope you do."

A small silence ensued, then Haldir said, a little gruffly, "Elanor, it is too soon for us to speak of this." Elanor's heart skipped a beat, but before she could reply he had leaped from the rock and pulled her into the pond so that they stood hand in hand in the shallow water. "Come," he said, drawing her forward.

They waded along the shallows, their feet sinking only slightly into the soft and muddy bottom. Here and there a few golden leaves floated on the water's surface, and Elanor bent down and picked one up, then flung back her head to gaze up into the lofty trees. A gentle breeze sifted through the branches, carrying the scents of forest and water, while the sounds of rustling leaves mingled with the happy chirping of birds and their small fluttering wings.

"Lothlórien is such a beautiful place," she said softly. "When first I came here, I did not want to like it. I thought I would be miserable here, but I am not."

"I knew you would not be miserable," Haldir replied complacently. "How could anyone resist the beauty that is Lórien?"

"True." Elanor laughed suddenly. "For a moment, I thought you were going to say, 'how can anyone resist the beauty that is _Lurien?_'" She released his hand and spun around, only to find her breath caught in her throat. Backlit by the afternoon sun, Haldir's silvery hair seemed to glow, while the silhouette of his body against the light brought home to her his raw physical power and intense masculinity.

He seemed unaware of her reaction. "Lurien would be displeased to hear you joke about him. He takes himself very seriously." Her jest seemed to relax him, to send his thoughts in a more playful direction, for he slid his arm around her waist and gave her a quick little squeeze. He seemed adept at such small things as this, tiny invasions of her senses that made her yearn for so much more.

"And what of you?" she asked in a teasing voice. The mood of the moment intoxicated her, making her bold and playful.

"What do you mean?" He gave her a quizzical look.

She gazed up at him through her eyelashes. "When first we met, you seemed to take yourself very seriously." Mimicking his voice, she added, "'You are my ward' and 'you may do my laundry' and 'you must ask me if you want assistance'." Her chin lifted, she took two steps away and turned to face him with crossed arms, her brows lifted in an attempt to imitate his past attitudes.

Haldir smiled. "All that still holds true," he said a bit loftily, "including the part about my laundry. You _are _my ward, Elanor. It is my duty to guide you, and your duty to—"

Elanor scooped up a handful of water and sent it flying into his face. For a moment he stood there with his mouth open, water dripping off the end of his nose, and then he grinned wolfishly and did the same to her. Elanor blinked water from her eyes, then, with a ripple of laughter, retaliated by splashing the front of his tunic with as much water as she could manage. Haldir's lips curved in a ferocious smile as he stalked over and grabbed her, swinging her up and into his arms in such a manner that her own arms were pinned to her sides.

"You toy with me, little flower," he murmured silkily. "Perhaps I should just toss you into the deepest part of the pond. Can you swim?" There was no ill will or anger in his voice; by now she understood that this was Haldir's way of flirting with her.

"That's a fine question to ask _now_!" she pretended to scold. "After you sent me to fill those waterskins with nary a thought for such a risk. I could have drowned in that cold water!"

"Ah, but I did not send you alone. I was watching you the whole time. Did you not know?"

"Oooh!" she sputtered, trying not to smile. "I only wish I could throw you in! That would serve you right! To watch my misery and do nothing to help was very wicked!" Enjoying the feel of his arms around her, she half-heartedly struggled against him.

His arms only tightened. "I am not averse to seeing you wet again, Elanor," he warned, his eyes gleaming. He dipped her downward until the long strands of her hair skimmed the water's surface. "It has become one of my favorite sights of late."

"Put me down, Haldir," she commanded. She wriggled and tried to kick him with her heel, then went still as he dipped her lower and more of her hair fell in the water. Would he really throw her in? Perhaps she ought to change tactics. "I have something to give you, and I cannot do it when you are holding me like this."

He lifted a brow, curious and yet wary. "You have something to give me? What could that be? More water in my face?"

She batted her lashes. "Something nicer than that."

"A kiss?" he guessed, his gaze falling to her mouth.

"Perhaps. Release me and find out."

He was enjoying this, she could see. His lips curved, his grey eyes caressing her face in a way that told her he was interested. "But I can kiss you without releasing you," he said in a lazy voice. As if to prove his point, he brought his lips close to hers.

"True enough," she said, her heart starting to race, "but my hands are not free."

"The magic hands of Elanor," he murmured in a reflective tone. His eyes met hers once more, sending tremors through her with their dark intensity. "Dare I risk it?"

She stifled a giggle. "Is the March Warden of Lothlórien afraid of Elanor of Rivendell?"

"Terrified," he said with a grin. "I never know what you will do next."

"Come now, be brave. I will not hurt you, I promise."

Their eyes locked, and in his Elanor saw amusement mingled with the heat of desire. Slowly he lowered her to her feet, and she slipped her arms around his neck.

"Now, what is this gift?" he murmured, drawing her against him until she could feel every contour and ridge of his battle-hardened body.

In answer, she pulled his head down and pressed her lips to his. This time he offered no resistance at all. His mouth eagerly covered hers, their tongues caressing and stroking each other while his hands slid down the length of her back, exploring every curve, his fingertips tracing downward to her bottom while hers splayed against the broad expanse of his back. She trailed her fingers through his hair, massaging his scalp, then sought out the sensitive tips of his ears, each at the same instant, her thumbs gently rubbing in such a way that a tremendous shudder ran though him.

Slowly, she pulled him toward the shore, their lips still locked, her hands still stroking his ears while his soft moans resounded low in his throat. He seemed as reluctant to end it as she was, and as they backed up, her foot slipped upon a rock. Instead of catching her, he fell along with her into the shallow water of the pond's edge, but neither of them took any notice. Their kisses continued, his leg thrown over one of hers, her free leg twined around him as much as possible while her hands roved over him and his over her. Each time they kissed it seemed that some part of him yielded, as though his control were a frayed rope, and she was the weapon that caused it to fray.

Finally, Haldir lifted his head, a smile twisting his lips as his eyes met hers. "Elanor, we are soaked to the skin."

In answer she slipped a hand down his chest and across his stomach until she touched his arousal, pressing slightly as she explored his size and thickness with her sensitive fingers. "I noticed," she whispered against his mouth. "Does it matter?" She pressed herself against him, her breathing fast and shallow with her yearning for completion with him and him alone.

Another shudder ran through him. "You are so difficult to resist," he said unsteadily. "But, Elanor, we must stop."

She cupped his hardness, squeezing gently before she stroked her palm upward, exulting at his violent responsive shudder and the way his hardened heat pulsated through the thin fabric of his leggings. "I am taking the opportunity to learn what pleases you," she murmured seductively. "One should always give attention to those activities requiring improvement."

He gave a shaky laugh. "I do believe you are becoming quite a tease, Elanor. It is not a habit I would encourage in my ward." He shifted his weight, his hands splayed against her bottom to draw her even closer, roving over her hips and back through the sodden fabric of her gown. Trapped between their two bodies, her palm still pressed against his fully erect sex, but she was now unable to stroke him, which was doubtless his intent. So stoic he was, and so controlled.

"You have told me to ask for what I want," she whispered. "What I want is for you to make love to me, Haldir."

She saw him swallow hard. "Elanor, you know I want to do that, but this is not the right time. Not yet, in any case. Certainly not now, lying in the water and mud the way we are. Not . . . yet, not here. Not now." He reached down and gripped her arm, bringing her hand gently upward to his lips so that he could kiss each of her fingers.

"Then promise me it will happen," she whispered.

He pulled away from her just a little, his head dipping down to spread hot kisses across her throat before saying, "Yes, Elanor, I promise that when the right time presents itself, I will make love to you. I also promise that you will like it. I will make sure you do."

"I cannot quite imagine what it will be like," she said softly. "Tell me how it will be."

He released a breath, smoothing the wet strands of hair from her face. "Are you worried I will hurt you?" he asked in a gentle voice.

"I know you would never hurt me on purpose. I have heard that it can hurt, but I do not fear it." She kissed his chin, his lips, and the tip of his nose.

He gazed down at her with such longing that she could not doubt that he cared for her. But did he love her? That was another thing altogether. "I will tell you that when the pain is over, it will be gone forever. After that, it will be nothing but delight. I will—" He paused, as if debating whether he should say more, then brought his lips close to her ear. "I will fill you with myself so that we are as one, and it will be better than anything you have ever known."

Elanor smiled, trembling at the heated images his words evoked, knowing that one day they would become a reality and she would truly feel his touch unbridled and uncontrolled. "I long for that day, Haldir."

"I ask for no promises. You are still free to choose another if you wish."

She hugged him, wishing he _would_ ask for promises. "I will not choose another. I am not so fickle, nor so young, nor so weak as you think me."

"I do not think you any of those things," he said simply. He sat up, and helped her to her feet. Their clothes dripping, they made their way up the bank to a grassy area near a cluster of rocks, where they made themselves comfortable. This time when his arm slid around her, pulling her back to lean against him, it was to offer warmth and comfort. They did not speak, but Elanor knew a new kind of peace, one that spread itself within her like a golden blanket of warmth and security. Her thoughts drifted, and eventually settled on her journey to Lothlórien. It had been such a difficult time, what with Haldir barely speaking to her, and losing her cloak in the water, and the goblins . . .

"Haldir," she said suddenly, "who fired the second arrow?"

"What?" Haldir glanced down at her, looking baffled.

"When we were traveling and were attacked," she said. "That horrid goblin dropped dead at my feet. Rúmil shot it, but there were two arrows. Do you know if it was Lord Celeborn or . . . perhaps you do not remember."

"On the contrary, Elanor, I remember it very well."

She craned her head upward to look directly into his amused grey eyes. "You do?"

"Indeed," he drawled, his voice teasing. "I remember very well the sight of poor, wet Elanor shivering behind the cloak which Galadriel held." He laughed at her expression. "Yes, Elanor, it was I. Rúmil and I loosed our arrow at the same instant."

"So you looked at me too," she said with a shake of her head. "You and Rúmil are both very naughty elves. I am sure Orophin would not have looked."

"And I am sure you give my brother credit where none is deserved," he said dryly. "I only glanced at you for an instant, Elanor. You need not be embarrassed."

"Oh," she said, relaxing once again, snuggling closer. "As long as it was no more than an instant, then I forgive you."

"Of course," he added thoughtfully, "an instant was all that was necessary." He laughed and nuzzled her hair with his cheek as he rested his head against hers, his arms tightening around her in a manner that seemed protective.

Elanor sighed with contentment and decided that it was far too late to take him to task for this transgression. She slowly drifted into a light reverie while Haldir's calm, steady breaths whispered past her ear.

Despite Haldir's advice—could she actually call it advice?—about not becoming involved with the affair of Doria's necklace, Elanor had made a promise to her friend and she did not mean to break her word. Therefore, she attempted to make inquiries discreetly when Haldir was not around. She spoke to two of Orophin's friends with no results—they truly seemed to know nothing—and so she eventually yielded to the inevitable, which was that she would have to ask Rúmil. She had postponed and avoided asking him for fear that he would guess more than she wished to reveal. Despite his mischievous ways, she had decided that Rúmil was both clever and astute.

The opportunity to speak to Rúmil presented itself the morning she finished mending a tear in one of his tunics. She found Haldir's youngest brother on one of the high observation talans, reclining gracefully against a branch, his eyes closed and a rather dreamy smile on his handsome face, as though whatever he was thinking about pleased him a great deal.

"Good morning, Rúmil," she said cheerfully.

Rúmil opened his eyes. "Good morning, Ellie. What brings you here?"

Elanor held up the tunic, and he straightened with a surprised look. "I did not expect you to attend to this so soon!" He took it from her and examined it. "You do fine work. I can hardly see where it was ripped. Did you not once tell me that disliked mending?"

Elanor sat down next to him. "I did say that, and it was true. Yet lately it has not seemed so much like a chore. I feel useful here, Rúmil, in a way that I did not at home."

Rúmil nodded. "You _are_ useful here, Ellie. And appreciated. Haldir cares for you, as do Orophin and I."

So often did she see mischief and laughter in Rúmil's eyes, that she almost expected to see it now, but when she looked into his kind blue eyes she could see he was sincere. "Thank you, Rúmil. I have made many friends, as you know. Doria for instance." She smoothed a wrinkle from her skirt, twitching it just a little so that it lay flat over her knees. "Speaking of Doria . . ." she added casually.

Rúmil leaned back against the branch, his mouth curved in a very faint smile. "What of her?"

Elanor resisted an urge to squirm. "The oddest thing has happened, Rúmil. Doria has received a mysterious gift, but from whom she does not know. Naturally some of us are curious, and I was wondering . . . do you know anything about it?"

"A mysterious gift," Rúmil echoed, dragging the words out. He appeared to be thinking deeply. "What kind of mysterious gift?"

"A necklace," she said, "in the shape of a butterfly."

Rúmil crossed his legs at the ankles and yawned. "Interesting. Is Doria so anxious to know the truth that she cannot wait until the giver reveals himself?"

"She is not anxious at all," Elanor said quickly. "It is I who am curious."

"Ah, I see." Now his eyes held that familiar twinkle. "And you think perhaps that I will help you solve your little mystery."

"Could you?" she asked. "Oh, Rúmil, you are teasing me, I can tell. Do you know something you're not telling me?"

His smile widened. "I might," he said lightly, "or I might not. All I can truly say is that Doria's necklace is not from me."

"Could it be from someone you know?" she prodded. "Someone close to you perhaps?"

Rúmil laughed. "Since I know everyone in Lórien, I would assume so! Have you asked Haldir? What did he say?"

Elanor regarded him with frustration. "He thinks I should stay out of it, though he did not say it exactly like that."

"Then perhaps you should heed the advice of your guardian." Rúmil's lips twitched with amusement. "At least occasionally," he added.

"But Doria—" Elanor stopped abruptly, then rephrased. "How can Doria thank the giver if she does not know who he is?"

"She can thank him when he chooses to reveal himself. Assuming it is a 'he' and not a 'she'."

Elanor sighed and gave up. "Very well, Rúmil. I will not ask you again, even though I think you know more than you are telling me."

"I am sure all will be revealed in time," Rúmil said in a placating tone. "Which reminds me, I have a question for you. Two questions, actually."

"Oh?"

"Haldir and I are planning a party for Orophin's begetting day. I'd like to invite you, and also to ask if you would help me set up the tables and food."

"Of course I will help," she said instantly. "When is it to be?"

For a few minutes they discussed what arrangements Rúmil had already made as well as the location and the guest list. "We will include Tarwë, Gwirith and Nerwen," Rúmil said. "I know they are your friends, and they are Orophin's as well."

"What about Doria?" Elanor demanded. "Is she not invited?"

"Of course, if she wishes to come. I am not sure she will."

"I am not sure either." Elanor was silent for a moment, longing to discuss Doria and Orophin and their problem, but sensing that Rúmil was reluctant to talk about his brother's personal life. "I will ask her," she added finally.

Rúmil nodded. "Very well. And I have one more question for you, Ellie, but you do not have to answer."

"What is it, Rúmil?"

"I am wondering how it is that you and Haldir came back from your walk the other evening looking so . . . unkempt." He grinned. "You had mud on your clothes."

Elanor's cheeks heated. "We went wading, and . . . and I slipped and fell in." This sounded quite plausible given what Rúmil knew about her.

He arched a brow. "Then why was Haldir so muddy?"

"He fell in too," she explained.

"Haldir fell in? You mean my brother Haldir? Not some other Haldir?"

"Yes, he tried to catch me, but . . . yes, he fell in." Elanor could feel her face growing hotter.

"You both fell in," Rúmil repeated, staring at her with a curious smile.

Elanor lifted her chin. "Really, Rúmil, there is no need to go on and on about it," she said with dignity. "Is it so inconceivable?"

Rúmil swung his feet to the ground and sat up, smiling sweetly as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and gave her an affectionate hug. "I beg your pardon, Ellie. I know not why I find it so tempting to tease you. Perhaps because it gladdens my heart to see you and Haldir so . . . friendly."

She smiled at this. "I do not mind your teasing. But it is quite true that Haldir fell in."

"I can only imagine that he had other things on his mind than maintaining his balance," Rúmil said wickedly.

"Why yes," she admitted, "I would have to say that he did."

After Elanor left, Rúmil picked up his mended tunic and went off to find Orophin. He found his brother sitting in his talan, staring glumly out the window at the shifting leaves, his feet propped on a second chair. He looked exceedingly morose.

Rúmil pulled the chair out from under Orophin's feet and plopped himself down. "Doria is trying to find out about the necklace," he said without preamble.

Orophin blanched. "Oh? What did she say?"

"I did not speak with her. It was Elanor who brought it up. She's trying to find out who Doria's mystery suitor is."

"You did not tell her anything?" Orophin looked so alarmed that Rúmil rejected any idea of teasing him.

"Not really," Rúmil answered. "But it was not easy. They are searching for the truth." He leaned forward. "You must tell her!"

Orophin shrugged. "I will when the time seems right."

"I think you should do it before tomorrow night," Rúmil said carefully.

"Why?" Orophin glanced at him. "What is tomorrow night?"

"We are having a party for you. To celebrate your begetting day, did you forget? It would be nice to be able to invite Doria, but I am not sure she will come unless you straighten things out between the two of you."

Orophin was shaking his head. "A begetting day party for me? Nay, brother! When was the last time we did that? It's been years! And it's silly!"

"That is precisely why we're doing it. It was Haldir's idea. So if you think it's so silly, you can tell that to him!"

Orophin rose to his feet and began to pace back and forth. "If you're having a party, you _must_ invite Doria. She would be hurt if you did not. I do not want her to her hurt," he added adamantly.

"Of course not," Rúmil assured him, more gently than usual, "but you are hurting her with your silence. She understands your behavior even less than I do."

"I saw her with Beredain again this morning. She did not see me, but . . ." Orophin heaved a sigh. "I think she hopes he gave her the necklace."

Rúmil grew conscious of a familiar wave of impatience with his brother. "And I think she hopes it is you, dear brother. But this is idle speculation. Talk to her! You must find your courage, or you may lose her!"

"I know. And I will." Orophin hurled himself back into the chair. After a short period of silence, he asked, "So you think she sent Elanor to talk to you?"

"I believe so," Rúmil replied. "Which suggests to me that you are under suspicion of anonymous necklace-giving. And since you have not spoken with Doria in so long, this tells me that . . ." He paused, quickly reviewing the logic of what he was about to say. "This tells me that she is hoping it is you."

"I do not see how you arrived at that conclusion," Orophin said, but nevertheless he sounded hopeful. "You are leaping to conclusions."

Rúmil's patience gave out. He jumped to his feet, his recently mended tunic tossed over his shoulder, and headed toward the door. "And I think you are behaving like a dumb Orc! Talk to her before the party, Orophin. You must end this self-torture! Think of it as a gift you are giving to yourself."

"I will consider it," Orophin said in a low voice.

Rúmil rolled his eyes and left the talan.

"I'm so sorry," Elanor told Doria later that day. "I could find out nothing. Rúmil seemed amused, but gave no indication that it was Orophin. Of course I did not ask him directly."

Doria clapped her hands to her cheeks. "Oh, I wish Rúmil did not have to know. He will tell Orophin. I am so embarrassed. What will he think of me? Oh Ellie!"

Elanor laid a comforting hand on Doria's shoulder. "Rúmil did not deny that he knows, not directly. I think he does know. And whoever gave you this necklace wants it to be secret, therefore he would not tell many people. If Rúmil knows, it must be someone close to him. And who is close enough to Rúmil to tell him such secrets if not one of his brothers? So it could be Orophin. . . ." Her voice faded as she wondered whether she was making sense.

Doria was struggling for composure. "Yes, I suppose so. Truly, it matters not who gave it to me, if only Orophin . . . if only . . ." Her voice cracked.

"Doria," Elanor said gently, "we are having a party for Orophin tomorrow night. Will you come?"

"A party?" Doria echoed numbly.

"It was Haldir's idea. It's to celebrate Orophin's begetting day."

"Oh." Doria wiped a hand across her cheek. "I do not know, Ellie. It would be very awkward. He might feel obliged to talk to me even though he does not wish to, and that would be dreadful." She shuddered. "I do not want to make other people feel uncomfortable or ruin the party."

"I truly think you should come," Elanor said coaxingly. "What if he thinks you're angry at him for some reason?"

Doria seemed surprised. "Angry? Why should I be angry? The last time we spoke was the day I fell off the chair into his arms. He held me so close, for just a few moments, and, oh Ellie, I knew . . . I knew I loved him." Her face crumpled. "And he just set me down upon my feet and walked away. "

"He said nothing?" Elanor asked indignantly. "Nothing at all?"

"Oh, he did. He told me I must be more careful for all Lórien would weep were I to injure myself. For a moment, I thought he would say something else, but then the oddest look crossed his face. And that was it."

Elanor shook her head. "It seems to me that the two of you must talk. " She smiled suddenly, thinking how amusing it was that she should be trying to give romantic advice. "And you must kiss him."

Doria turned pink. "Oh, I would love to. I just love to kiss. I keep imagining what it would be like . . . with Orophin . . ."

Elanor later told Haldir that she thought she had convinced Doria to come to the party, though she was not entirely certain. "We shall have to wait and see," she said.

That evening, Haldir showed her his gift for Orophin. He withdrew the tunic that Doria had made, the one delivered to his talan on Elanor's first day in Caras Galadhon.

"Oh," she exclaimed. "I wondered why you never wore it. I thought perhaps you were saving it for some special occasion."

"I am," he said with a teasing smile. "And this is the occasion."

Elanor wondered if Haldir was attempting to do a little matchmaking of his own, but she did not ask him. It was becoming clear that the three brothers protected each other in all ways and not merely in a battle. She found it heartwarming, yet once more she thought of Lana and was conscious of an ache of sadness. Perhaps someday Lana would mature and things would be different.

The garden sparkled, long sprays of greenery flickering in the candlelight amid the heavy blossoms of wisteria entwined among the boughs. Elanor smiled, her hand on Haldir's arm as they made their way into the garden, nodding in greeting to those who were already assembled.

"Thank you for helping Rúmil," Haldir said quietly. He glanced around the clearing, pulling her aside as several elves moved past. "Perhaps something interesting will happen tonight," he whispered. His mischievous tone confirmed her suspicions that he had arranged this party for an ulterior purpose. Was it to do with the awkward situation between Orophin and Doria?

Haldir stepped around a bank of lilies, guiding Elanor through the narrow path into a wider area where several tables had been set up. The warmth of his hand against the small of her back sent sweet shivers racing through her, as it always did each time he touched her. She wondered if he noticed her reaction. Most likely he did, for those grey eyes of his did not miss much, and she noticed a slight increase in pressure before he took away his hand.

Elanor looked around at the assembled guests, and received a little wave from Gwirith. She waved back, then turned back to Haldir. "Orophin is not here yet," she said anxiously. "He _is_ going to come, is he not?"

"He will be here," Haldir replied without concern, "though he may not be expecting so many."

"If Doria attends," she murmured, "will that make a difference to Orophin?"

He looked amused by her not so subtle attempt to get information from him. "Should it, Elanor?"

Elanor gritted her teeth. "Oh, come, Haldir, you know more about this necklace business than you are telling me. I know you better than you think."

Haldir actually laughed aloud, earning them a few curious glances. "I swear I do not. Orophin has not confided in me, at least not about a necklace."

"Ah," she said with satisfaction. "But about other things he has, I can see it in your face. Very well, then, keep your secrets. Look, Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn have arrived."

Elanor watched Haldir walk over to greet the lord and lady of Lórien, then turned when Gwirith touched her shoulder.

"She is coming?" Gwirith whispered.

"She said she was," Elanor replied, "but she might change her mind. She said she had nothing to wear, and of course she looked beautiful. She is very nervous." She looked over Gwirith's shoulder. "Oh, there are Tarwë and Nerwen. I half worried that Tarwë would try to bring Lurien, but she did not."

"Tarwë knows better than to bring Lurien to a party where Haldir and his brothers are present." Gwirith gave a sudden little crow of laughter. "Ah, here is Orophin now! Look at his face! He seems astonished to see so many of us." Elanor saw Rúmil behind Orophin, giving him a small push forward into the garden.

Orophin greeted those near him with a lopsided smile, receiving well wishes with a look of slight embarrassment. His hair gleamed as he moved, his face alight with smiles, and yet Elanor noticed that his eyes scanned the garden. Did he search for Doria?

Picking up a goblet of wine, Elanor made her way over to Orophin and handed it to him with a shy smile. His eyes held affection as he bent to kiss her cheek.

"Good evening, Elanor. You look lovely tonight." He accepted the goblet with a smile and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "How is your archery coming along?"

Elanor looked up into his clear blue eyes and could see why Doria adored him. His gaze held kindness and gentleness, and of course he was very handsome. "Actually I'm doing much better since . . ." She stopped, worried she would hurt his feelings.

"Since Haldir came back," he finished. "He has a gift for that type of instruction. I realize Rúmil and I confused you, and I am sorry." Orophin took a sip of his wine, then glanced at Rúmil. "And you, my brother, deceived me about this party. You said there would only be a few guests."

Rúmil's eyes twinkled. "There _are_ only a few." He gestured toward the crowd with his wine goblet, his mouth slanting into an easy grin. Then something very subtle changed in his expression as his eyes fell on a group of ellith near the lilies. "Well," he added, "I'm off to flirt, dear brother. I will give you your gift later." He moved away.

Elanor turned to Orophin. "What was that about?"

"He has his eye on someone." Orophin's interested gaze focused on the group of ellith, almost as though he did not know which one attracted his brother's notice.

Elanor turned to look. The group of five included Amerith, Gwirith, Nerwen, Isywien, and Tarwë. Curiously, she wondered which of the five had caught Rúmil's interest. And where was Doria? It suddenly occurred to Elanor that she had still not yet arrived, and she looked around to be sure. But no, Doria was nowhere to be found.

Orophin moved off to speak with others, and Haldir returned to her side. "What is wrong, Elanor? You look worried." He touched her elbow for a brief moment.

"Doria is not here," she whispered. "What should I do?"

"Nothing," he said. "She has made her choice."

"Haldir, I think I should go and look for her," she insisted.

"Leave her be, Elanor. This has naught to do with us."

Elanor met Haldir's impassive gaze, and began to feel annoyed with him. "Are you back to giving orders again?"

"I do not recall that I ever stopped giving orders, though most are being phrased as requests. You are my ward—"

"I am not likely to forget," she said tartly. "You make sure of that."

He arched a brow. "Elanor, this is not the time to discuss this."

"I know." She bit her lip, still feeling irked with him. "But Doria suffers."

"It is between the two of them," Haldir told her firmly. "You will not interfere." He saw the look on her face. "Please Elanor," he added in a quieter tone. "It is not for us to solve. Do you not trust my judgment?"

Elanor met his gaze. "I do trust you," she said, "but . . ."

He waited silently for her to continue.

"Oh, very well," she said with a sigh. "Perhaps you are right."

He smiled slightly. "Doria is fortunate to have you for a friend," he said in a gentler voice. "Now, come, it is time for us to direct our guests to the tables. The food is waiting."

Eventually it was time for gifts. More than an hour had passed since Haldir had convinced her to leave things be, and still no Doria. Elanor could not imagine what was keeping her, or why she might have changed her mind about attending Orophin's party once she had finally decided that she would. All she could think of is that Doria's courage had failed her at the last moment.

Elanor directed her attention toward Orophin, who was still looking a bit embarrassed by all the attention. At the moment, he was receiving a gift from Nerwen. Orophin untied the ribbon, then looked up at Nerwen, holding it aloft. "Such a lovely ribbon," he joked. "Did you mean me to wear it in my hair?"

Nerwen pointed at the present in Orophin's lap. "The ribbon is not the gift, Orophin."

"No?" With an amiable smile, Orophin eased the wrapping from the gift, and lifted a leather-bound book. "A journal," he announced. "It is exactly what I need."

Nerwen looked pleased. "I thought of your poems, and all the time you spend on watch. I thought it a practical gift."

Orophin smoothed his fingers over the cover; it had been crafted with care, its leather engraved with leaves and trees. "It is small and easily carried. I will treasure it, Nerwen."

Rúmil raised his goblet. "And fill it within a year, no doubt. You will need to start on a new one, Nerwen, if you think to keep up!" Everyone laughed and Orophin turned to the next gift, the one from Haldir.

The wrapping was simple, white silk tied with a blue ribbon. Elanor held her breath as Orophin eased away the wrapper, and lifted the folded cloth within. When he held it up, the tunic unrolled, its cloth shimmering as the flickering light glanced off its iridescent fabric. Orophin stared at it, then looked up, a questioning look in his eye.

Haldir inclined his head in answer to the silent inquiry. "It is of Doria's make," was all he said aloud.

His face tightly controlled, Orophin touched the cloth. It had a tight weave, ivory amid strands of silver green and gold, each glossy thread glistening and reflecting the color of the next strand, allowing the garment to seem ivory, yet also having a pale green or gold cast depending on the fall of the light.

"It is exquisite. Thank you." Orophin refolded the tunic carefully, giving Haldir another brief glance. "You honor me with this gift, brother."

Elanor handed him her own gift. "It cannot compare to the last," she said.

"Your greatest gift is your presence here," Orophin replied with a smile. "And if you distract my brother so that he forgets to send me to the fences then I am doubly grateful." He shot Haldir a quick grin, and opened the carven box.

"Honey cakes, my favorite! You have won my heart, Elanor." He lifted one and took a bite, making an exaggerated look of enjoyment that earned him a few laughs.

Next, Lord Celeborn came forward, pulling a small book from within the folds of his long sleeves. "Lord Elrond once gifted me with this volume of poems, but I have read it more than once. I now give it to you, Orophin of Lórien. I hope it may serve as inspiration for your own."

Rising, Orophin bowed his head and accepted the book, opening it to the first page. Seeing the inscription, he observed in a humorous tone, "This once belonged to Erestor. My lord, are you sure I will not find him at my door demanding its return?"

Celeborn smiled. "Where Erestor is concerned, I am sure of nothing. I know not how Elrond persuaded him to give up one of his treasured books, but if I were you, I would keep a careful eye on it." He returned to his seat, and Galadriel rose.

She moved gracefully toward Orophin and handed him a small vial. "You may think it odd, but in this vial I give you a small part of what is Lórien. Should the day arrive when you leave these shores and return to the west, you shall take with you a piece of this place where we have passed so many days. I know you treasure such things, Orophin, though you do not often admit to it." She kissed his cheek.

Orophin bowed his head. "Thank you, my lady, I will indeed treasure this. You know me well." His eyes shifted suddenly as a movement at the entrance to the garden caught his attention.

Elanor followed his gaze and felt a flood of relief when she saw Doria moving slowly toward the group gathered around Orophin. Doria wore a pale blue gown, simple in design, that accentuated the sweet curves of her body and set off her pale hair to perfection. Most significantly, she was wearing the butterfly necklace. Elanor's gaze darted back to Orophin's face just in time to catch his expression before he veiled it. Ha, she had been right all along!

Orophin seemed paralyzed as Doria came up to him. Doria glanced around with a quick smile for everyone before looking back at Orophin. Her face was pink, and Elanor could see that she was both nervous and determined.

"I'm so sorry I'm late for your party, Orophin," she said softly. "Someone gave me this lovely necklace and I wished to wear it, but it somehow became tangled . . . and it took so long to see what it was that I must do to make it right . . . and then I knew what I must do . . ." Her voice faded as Orophin reached out and touched a finger to the little mithril butterfly.

"It is lovely and it becomes you, Doria," he said solemnly. "Yet your own beauty casts it into the shade."

Doria blushed even pinker. "Oh, thank you," she whispered, looking delightfully shy and flustered. Her widened eyes stared into his.

Orophin cleared his throat. "I did not think you were coming," he added.

Doria gave him a wobbly smile, not wanting to admit it was a matter of simple panic that had kept her so long, unsure of what to wear, unsure if she should don the necklace or not. Agonizing over the decision had kept her away, terrified that whatever decision she made would be wrong and would push Orophin away. And then she had dropped the necklace and it had taken so long to untangle with her shaking fingers.

In fact her hands were still shaking as she held out her gift to Orophin. He took it from her with a slight smile, then caught hold of her hand and drew her to sit next to him. Muted giggles from a few of her friends drifted to Doria's ears.

Orophin glanced up. "They seem to know something I do not," he observed, his tone filled with wry humor.

Doria self-consciously smoothed the skirt of her dress, afraid to look at anyone but Orophin for fear that she would blush even further. "Will you not open my gift?" she asked earnestly.

Orophin turned the package over in his hands. "I cannot think what it could be."

Doria clenched her hands together in her lap so hard her knuckles turned white.

Rúmil leaned down and wrapped an arm around Doria's shoulders. "Doria, my dear, if you decide he is in fact quite boring, you have only to look my way. I want to say that right now before anything else happens."

Doria laughed, feeling instantly more at ease, yet her cheeks grew even hotter at the implication of Rúmil's words. What did he mean by 'before anything else happens'?

Once more Orophin's gaze connected with hers, and this time his eyes held all the warmth she had longed to see.

Rúmil stepped back and gave the crowd a meaningful look. "I have things to do this evening, and since it looks like it will be awhile before Orophin remembers to open his last gift, I do believe I am going to take my leave."

Galadriel also spoke. "Celeborn and I also bid you good night, Orophin. We enjoyed your party very much."

Orophin dragged his eyes away from Doria long enough to rise to his feet and bow to Galadriel and Celeborn. "My lady, my lord, I am honored that you came. Thank you."

Everyone else took the hint and said their good nights, leaving Orophin and Doria alone in the garden, the heady scent of lilies surrounding the couple like a warm embrace. Compared to a moment before, it was very silent save for the merry chirping of a few crickets.

Doria's heart hammered hard. "I didn't mean to scare them all away," she said in a small voice.

Orophin's mouth curved into an adorable smile as he sat back down beside her. "You did not frighten them away, Doria. I do not think you could ever frighten anyone . . . except perhaps me," he added with ruefulness.

Doria felt a stab of horror. "You are afraid of me, Orophin? Why? What did I do?" Tears almost came to her eyes at the thought.

"You did nothing," he told her gently. "Shall we talk about it now, or would you like me to open your gift first?"

"The gift," she whispered, smiling despite her anxiety. How wonderful he was! How sensitive and kind!

She watched him slide off the ribbon and unfold the cloth wrapping. Inside lay a framed likeness of herself, beautifully painted by Gwyllion, a skilled Lothlórien artist.

For a long moment Orophin sat transfixed, simply gazing at it, then he shifted his awed gaze to her face. "It is beyond beautiful, Doria. I have no words to say how much this means to me."

"I-I did not know if you would like it," she stammered joyfully. "I thought perhaps it was a foolish gift, but Elanor insisted that—"

Her words were cut off as Orophin dragged her into his arms and kissed her. It was a thorough kiss, passionately delivered, a delightful union of mouths that fulfilled her every expectation. Even better, he soon deepened the kiss, turning it into a sweet and intimate experience that warmed her all the way to her toes. Wrapping her arms around him, Doria returned the kiss with enthusiasm, letting Orophin know in no uncertain terms that she welcomed his embrace.

When their lips finally parted, his blue eyes sparkled with laughter and such tenderness that her heart brimmed with happiness. This was the Orophin she had grown to love! "I was so afraid you didn't like me," she confessed sheepishly.

"Like you?" he murmured, his voice a little uneven. "That is not the word I would choose to describe what I feel for you, Doria." He traced the curve of her jaw with his finger. "I love you, Doria. It is love that I feel for you. True, deep, abiding love. And I confess it has scared me more than anything I have ever known, for I feared you would never love me in return." He wrapped his strong arms around her, spreading kisses across her face.

"Oh, Orophin, I love you too, so very much! But you must release me! We can't sit like this all night."

"Why not? It's my begetting day, is it not? Surely I should get to do what I want." Orophin kissed her again, then raised his head to gaze down at her with laughing eyes.

Doria giggled. "What is it that you want? I have already given you many kisses."

Orophin slid his hands down her arms to her hands, then stood up, drawing her to her feet. "I want more of you, my love. I know we need to talk, and we will do that, I promise. And I know I should just be grateful that you are here, and that I have been allowed to kiss you . . ."

"I am yours if you want me, Orophin of Lórien," she whispered in trembling anticipation, breathless with the realization that at last her dreams were coming true. He had called her his love! "I will be fully yours if that is your wish," she added with shy hopefulness.

Orophin's eyes grew dark, their sapphire depths smoldering with an inner fire. "Then I shall follow my instincts."

She gasped with delight as he lifted her into his strong arms and strode out of the garden, carrying her along the darkened pathways of the city as easily as if she weighed nothing.

Her stomach fluttering with excitement, she wrapped her arms around his neck. "What about your gifts? Where are we going?"

"The gifts are quite safe," he informed her, his breath fanning the rim of her ear. "I saw Rúmil hovering behind a tree as we left the garden. I expect he is already gathering them up, and we shall find them in my talan when we arrive a bit later."

"We are not going to your talan now?" she said in bewilderment. "Then where are we going, Orophin?"

He drew her close to his chest. "To the bathhouse, my love. I thought a nice warm bath with the elleth I love would suit me very well. An elleth wearing nothing more than the necklace I gave her as a token of my eternal devotion."

Elanor's days began to flow by like a peaceful stream. She practiced her archery, tended plants and flowers, cooked and cleaned, and spent time with Haldir and her friends. As for Doria, these days she was most often with Orophin, and when she was not, she drifted about in a state of euphoria that Elanor tried not to envy. All Doria's problems appeared to be resolved, and of course Elanor was happy for her. She knew that Orophin came to Doria's talan each night, for Doria had told her so without adding details. Doria glowed with inner happiness and fulfillment while Elanor continued to ache for Haldir.

Because of that ache, Haldir was always in her mind, either consciously or floating in the background of her thoughts like a banked fire of pure longing. There was now an easiness between them, a satisfying camaraderie, yet at the same time tension sizzled between them. He kissed her, yes, sometimes several times a day, but never more than that. He did not quite flirt with her, yet neither did he treat her as a ward. Certainly he did not treat her as a 'comrade' as he had claimed so many weeks ago, but she wisely refrained from pointing this out. He did not come to her bed, though she knew he wanted to as desperately as she wished he would. And he would not, she knew, until he felt that it was right. This frustrated her, but at the same time her admiration for him grew and grew. . . as did her love for him. She only wished she knew if he felt the same for her. He had never once said that he loved her.

Without doubt, Haldir would always be himself—stubborn, honorable, authoritative, sometimes exasperating, with an edge of arrogance that came in part from his innate personality and in part from his rank and responsibilities. He often irritated her, yet even at such times she cared for him.

No, theirs was not the peaceful relationship that Orophin and Doria enjoyed. Instead, an exhilarating spark existed between them, a spark that often ignited one or the other of their tempers—usually hers. She had learned early on that going head to head with Haldir could be precarious, but she also knew that he respected her even if she challenged him, though he would not welcome such behavior from a warden. She was beginning to suspect that he accepted challenges from her that he would accept from no one else, and that meant that she was, in effect, special to him. And that contributed to her confidence and to the love she felt for him.

A recent conversation kept coming back to her, as it had so often done of late.

"You see, I was right," he had told her on the night of Orophin's party, "I told you they would work it out themselves."

"If it had not been for my encouragement, Doria might never have had the courage to attend the party," she had pointed out.

"You do not know that, Elanor."

"And you do not know that I am wrong, Haldir."

"Elanor," he'd said with a smile, "I do know that you are wrong. They would have worked it out eventually, if not on that day then on another. It was inevitable."

That he was likely right had exasperated her because she'd only wanted him to acknowledge her contribution to his brother's happiness. "I suppose you think you are always right!" she had shot back, with a trace of annoyance.

The change in his expression had shocked her, for his face had grown suddenly sorrowful. "No, I am not always right," he'd admitted quietly. "But when I err, there are consequences I must live with forever. Only last year, exactly one year ago to this day, I made an error in judgment and lost three elves. They now linger on in the Halls of Waiting, and for that, I shall never stop blaming myself."

The pain in his voice had stabbed her, hurting her nearly as much as he must be hurting. She had gone to him and put her arms around him, and offered him the comfort of her embrace. They had stood, locked in each other's arms, for such a long while, and she had been so tempted to pour out all her love for him right then. But she had not, for she still doubted, just a bit. Did he love her?

How long would it be before she found out? And what would she do if the answer was no?

tbc (feedback appreciated! Thanks to all reviewers!)


	16. Chapter Sixteen

**Chapter Sixteen**

Haldir strolled along the path toward the archery fields, more lighthearted than he had been in a very long time. In the first few centuries of his life, he had often been conscious of an exultant kind of joy, but over the many years since then, such feelings had faded to a more general acceptance and composure. Rarely did he feel any wild surges of emotion, either blissful or despairing, but instead had been as content as one could expect given the state of things in Arda and the extent of his responsibilities as a warden of Lothlórien. The worst times were when he allowed himself to recall those occasions where elves had lost their lives while under his command. Galadriel was the only one to whom he spoke of this, and thus far she had been the only one who could truly ease his guilt and pain.

Now Elanor was someone else he could speak to of such things, someone besides the Lady or his brothers. And for some reason he yearned to tell Elanor things he had never told anyone . . . and this would take some getting used to, that much was certain. He thrust such thoughts away and instead inhaled a deep breath of fresh Lothlórien air.

Today, his spirits soared. He knew he was going to have to leave Elanor soon to go back to the border and his duty, yet the knowledge that she would be here, waiting for him to return, elated him. He was now inclined to dismiss his earlier concerns that she might turn to Rúmil or someone else in his absence, or that she might in fact be better off with anyone other than himself. He was beginning to toy with the idea that perhaps he was the right one for her and that she was the right one for him. Still, he was ever cautious by nature, and did not mean to do more than contemplate the intriguing idea in the privacy of his mind. For now, it was enough that he and Elanor had acknowledged their mutual caring.

He fought back a smile at the memory of her behavior at the pond, and his own subsequent near-loss of control. He did not know why he was surprised by what she had done, but he knew that he'd liked it enormously. Shy maidens had never much appealed to him; he was both sensual and straightforward by nature, and preferred not to have to play games. Elanor teased, but she did not play games. Or at least not the sort that annoyed him. She also amused him in ways that no other maiden had ever done.

He sighed and swatted at a branch that hung in his way, using more force than was strictly necessary as a way of releasing his pent-up tension. His mouth twisted as he recalled the dream he'd had last night, about Elanor of course. He had woken suddenly, drenched in sweat, so aroused he was on the verge of explosion, and it had taken every particle of his willpower to refrain from leaping from the cot and climbing into bed with Elanor. The dream had seemed so real, so acutely stimulating . . . Haldir grimaced and tried to push away the memory. Of course it did not help that Orophin had been walking around these past few days with a huge grin on his face and an attitude of intense satisfaction and fulfillment.

"Haldir!" Rúmil's voice hailed him from behind.

Haldir turned and arched an inquiring brow as Rúmil came up to him.

"Where are you going?" Rúmil inquired nonchalantly.

"To the archery range. Is it not obvious?" Haldir resumed walking, and Rúmil kept pace beside him, his fair hair fluttering in the breeze.

"I was only being civil." Rúmil seemed preoccupied in a way that was not his usual manner. "I will go with you. I need an excuse to be far away from Orophin."

"Now that is something I can understand," Haldir agreed fervently.

"If he would only stop smiling," Rúmil added with an exaggerated sigh.

"Grinning," Haldir corrected.

"Smirking."

"Gloating."

"As though he and Doria had discovered a great secret nobody else knows! As far as I can discern, they rediscover it most of every night and at least once or twice a day. It's quite sickening."

"Indeed," Haldir said dryly, and tried not to think about it.

He saw Rúmil send him a sideways glance. "Haldir, do you remember when we used to give each other advice?"

"No, I do not. I remember me giving you advice, and you ignoring it. Do you wish for my advice now?"

"Er . . . well, in a manner of speaking, yes." Once again Haldir noted that Rúmil did not sound completely like himself.

Haldir stopped abruptly and turned to face Rúmil. "What is wrong?"

"Nothing. I am just wondering how you do it."

"Do what?" Haldir asked with an edge to his voice. "You grow more enigmatic with every passing year. If you wish to say something meaningful, please do so."

Rúmil tilted back his head and gazed up into the trees. "I'm not sure how to say this."

"Rúmil . . ." Haldir said dangerously. "You try my patience. If you have something sensible to say, I am listening."

"I have this feeling that you . . . and Elanor . . . would like to be closer than you are. I did not know for certain . . . but now that I have seen Orophin . . . it is clear to me that you and Elanor are not . . . have not . . . ahem . . ."

"I cannot believe you are saying this," Haldir replied in annoyance. "Exactly why is this a concern of yours?"

"I was just wondering how you do it."

"Do what?" Haldir could feel his euphoric mood evaporating.

Rúmil cleared his throat. "Well, now, I suppose I will have to tell you something else, to provide a little background for my question." He paused, as though debating within himself. "I have long conducted my life much the same way you do. I have friends, like you do . . . er . . . did. Female friends."

"I am not following you, Rúmil," Haldir replied, although he was beginning to think that he did. "Can you possibly say something that makes sense?"

"Mordor take you, I am trying!" Rúmil flung himself down on a large rock, looking both frustrated and chagrinned.

Haldir sat down beside him. "Start again," he commanded.

Rúmil reached down and picked up a stick, twirling it between his agile fingers. "I noticed you do not go to them any more. For your personal needs."

Haldir was silent.

"May I ask why?" Rúmil said, so seriously that Haldir bit off the sarcastic retort he'd been about to make.

"Because . . . " Haldir searched his mind for a reason that he could offer to his brother. "Because I do not wish to," he said firmly. Sensing this was not an adequate explanation, he added, "I have been busier than usual with Elanor here. So how is this connected to you? Are you trying to tell me you are interested in her?" He braced himself for an affirmative response.

"Elanor?" Rúmil's head turned. "No! Not in the way you mean. Oh, she is pretty and I like her, and I would gladly slee—I mean, I would gladly kiss her if I could . . . if she wished me to, I mean, which of course she does not . . . oh, Mordor . . . I am not making any sense, am I?"

Haldir looked at him. "No."

Rúmil gave a sheepish smile. "I meant to court her, you know. Partly because I like her, and partly to see what kind of effect it would have on you. It was Orophin's idea, and I meant to do it . . . and I did flirt with her . . . but . . ."

Haldir maintained his silence while Rúmil poked the ground with his stick.

"I can't seem to court anyone," Rúmil said finally.

Haldir's brows drew together. "What are you saying?"

Again, it took a long while for Rúmil to answer. "It's such serious business, courtship. Mooning around like Orophin did with Doria . . . I can't do that. I'm not like that. I'm not good at being serious about things like that. I like to flirt and tease. And play. And joke around." He sighed. "I like to make love. I'm very good at it."

Haldir studied his brother, unsure how he should respond.

"But lately," Rúmil went on, "and by lately I mean the last ten or twelve years, I have been finding . . . "

"Finding?" Haldir prodded, when the silence became prolonged.

"Finding that sometimes . . ."

Haldir waited.

"Sometimes," Rúmil continued obscurely, "they aren't all equal."

Haldir looked at his brother's face, noting the earnest appeal in Rúmil's blue eyes. "You have lost me. What is not equal?"

"The maidens," Rúmil explained. "I think I am going to speak plainly, if you do not mind."

"Plain speech is what I have been hoping for," Haldir said, his exasperation laced with amusement.

Rúmil stared down at the dirt, his elbows on his knees as he poked the stick deeper into the ground. "The truth is that . . . there's only one maiden I want to take to bed with me," he mumbled. "And she refuses."

Haldir's lips twitched. "Ah," he said. "I see."

"And I really, really want to take her to bed. And I can't."

"Hmmm," Haldir said, trying to sound sympathetic.

"So my question is," Rúmil continued, "how do you do it? I've started to sleep alone . . . it's been two weeks and two days now . . . and I'm not very happy about it. Do you just . . . er . . ."

Haldir arched a brow, rather enjoying Rúmil's embarrassment. "Just what? I thought you were going to speak plainly?"

Looking miserable, Rúmil threw down his stick. "I know it sounds conceited when I say it, but I am popular. I never have any trouble finding someone to be with. I _need_ sex. It's like breathing to me. I manage well enough when I am at the border, but when I am home . . . that's when I . . . I mean, how can I live without it?"

"Are you going to tell me who this maiden is?" Haldir inquired bluntly.

"No."

"You only want my advice."

"Yes."

"Are you sure no one else will do?" Haldir asked. "There are many fair maidens in Lórien."

"I know that." Rúmil's voice was subdued. "I have told myself that a thousand times over the past few years. The more I try to convince myself she doesn't matter to me, the more I know I am fooling myself. I can't be with anyone else. I tried it and . . . it didn't work."

"Ah."

Rúmil glanced over and saw Haldir's smirk. "That is _not_ what I meant. It worked very well, brother. I only meant that my mind was elsewhere. The maiden I was with was not the one I wished to see beneath me. It suddenly felt . . . wrong. Or at least not . . . not right. Not the way I wanted it to be."

Haldir sighed and rose to his feet. "You want my advice, but I have none except that you will have to find a way to woo the maiden."

"Aye," Rúmil agreed in a gloomy tone. "And that could take years. Or decades. Or even centuries."

"Then you had best get started," Haldir said dryly.

Doria sat in the small lily garden where Orophin's party had taken place, her hands smoothing over one of Orophin's tunics that needed repair, a dreamy smile on her face. Her sewing tools remained neglected at her side while memories of this morning's lovemaking replayed in her mind. How strong Orophin was, and how passionate and sensitive to her needs! And—she blushed a little—how extremely virile he was! That was something she would keep to herself since she knew all her friends would delight in teasing her if she told them. Except for Elanor, of course. Elanor was different from the others. Elanor liked to tease, but she seemed to understand what made Doria uncomfortable and would not stray into those areas, even for the sake of a laugh.

Doria's lips curved with affection for Elanor. Yes, she had been twice blessed by the Valar of late, first with Elanor's friendship, and then with Orophin's love. Could life get any better? Well, perhaps only if they sailed west together, where Orophin would no longer have a border to guard and defend. Her smile drooped a little at the thought. She did not like to think of Orophin being in danger.

"What causes you to lose that pretty smile, Sister?"

Doria started, and glanced up to see the tall figure standing just a few paces away. "I did not hear your approach, Lurien. Are you not on duty this morning?"

"Not until tonight. My hours have rotated again." He sauntered over and lowered himself to the grass beside her, his blue eyes fixed rather critically on her face. "You have not answered my question. Has your new love affair already lost its bloom?"

"Of course not! Orophin and I are in love, and I am very happy. I was merely reflecting on the dangers he encounters while on duty."

Lurien's mouth flattened. "Ah, yes, of course. I am sure your lover has bragged of his prowess as a great Orc killer."

"Orophin never brags, Lurien," Doria replied with indignation. "Why do you say such things? I thought it was only Haldir you disliked."

"I am not fond of his brothers, and I am not well pleased to find you involved with one of them." Lurien glanced at the tunic in her lap. "I see he already has you doing chores for him. I do not like to see him use my sister as a menial."

Doria looked him straight in the eye, determined to make him understand. "Please hearken to me. I object to such talk and will listen to no more of it. Why do you wish to spoil my happiness? If I do this for him, it is because I love him and not because he asked it of me. Do I not do the same for you?"

Lurien sighed, his face softening with the love she knew he felt for her. "I do not wish to spoil anything for you, Doria. You know I want you to be happy. I only seek to protect you as a brother should."

"I do not need protection from Orophin," she informed him, quite firmly. "In truth, I think it is you who are unhappy, and that worries me."

"I?" Lurien seemed genuinely surprised. "I am not unhappy."

"When Elanor first came to Lórien, you seemed quite taken with her. I wondered if she might be the one for you, but now I know she is not. I have worried that your heart might be wounded."

With a quick laugh, he reached out to chuck her under the chin. "Nay, my heart is quite intact. You should know me better than that. I only seek amusement."

She regarded him closely, but saw nothing other than earnestness in his expression. "I also feared you might wound Elanor's heart, but I do not think you have it in your power."

"What does she say of me?"

"She says nothing about you. She knows you are my brother. And she does not gossip like some of the others."

"She is different, I admit." He stretched out his long legs and leaned back on his hands, his head tipped back so that his golden hair spread across the grass.

Doria studied him. His eyes were closed, his face serene, as though no troubles or concerns ever marred the perfect surface of his life. She knew him well, yet he had never confided the deepest secrets of his heart to her. He was so much older than she was, perhaps that was why. He saw her as the sweet, young sister he must protect rather than as one who cared for him because they were of the same blood. Their parents had sailed to the West well over a century ago, and that only added to his desire to care for her. Often she tried to see him as the others did, as the handsome, flirtatious and supposedly irresistible seducer, but to her, he was simply Lurien, her brother. A brother she looked up to and adored.

"Are the archery lessons over?" she asked.

"With Elanor, you mean?" He reopened his eyes and grimaced. "While her guardian is here, yes. When he returns to the border, they will resume."

"Why?" she asked, with a bluntness she did not usually use with him. "Lurien, are you trying to cause trouble?"

"Not in the way you mean. I was attempting to help your friend, though I admit I did it in a way that would annoy that insufferably arrogant March Warden. You cannot blame me for wishing to do both, all in a single and very clever stroke."

She shook her head. "I will blame you if you hurt Elanor. I will not forgive you for that, Lurien. Elanor is my friend, perhaps the closest friend I have ever had."

Lurien's clear blue eyes seemed to soften. "I will not hurt your friend, my dear. Why would I? How could I? I cannot break her heart, nor would I injure a hair upon her pretty head. The most I might do is kiss her. And that, I assure you, would not hurt her in the least."

"I think you should leave her alone. Please, Lurien."

For a moment she thought he would agree, then something hardened in his face, as though a mask had been lowered over his beautiful countenance. "You worry too much, Doria. Love has clearly addled your brain." With grace and dexterity, he leaped to his feet and made a small bow. "Until later, Sister."

With a sinking heart, she watched him stroll away. It disturbed her deeply to have her loyalties pulled in different directions like this. She only wanted everyone to be kind to each other and to be as happy as she was. But Lurien was still bent on causing trouble, and what could she do about it when she did not know what he might do? At least she knew he would not hurt Elanor, nor was Orophin the genuine target of his hostility. As for Haldir, she knew he could take care of himself. It was for Lurien himself that she feared, for she did not want him to be hurt ever again.

Elanor bent over the flowers on the terrace of Haldir's talan, touching the edges of their delicate petals with a loving and gentle finger. She could feel their pleasure in the attention she gave them, their joy in being alive, and as it always did, it invigorated her. She straightened and glanced around the pretty little patio, trying not to look at Haldir's cot or to dwell upon the thoughts that sight evoked.

With a small sigh, she left the terrace and picked up her quiver and bow. Haldir had gone down to the archery field, and she was headed there also, but as chance would have it, she happened upon Lord Celeborn as she made her way down the spiraling stairs toward the forest floor. Although she had several times conversed with the Lady Galadriel, Elanor had not had much contact with the Lady's regal husband during her time in Lórien, and she was a little surprised when he stopped and spoke to her.

"Good day, Elanor." The elf lord's eyes rested on her bow and quiver, and he smiled slightly. "You have been most diligent in your practice these past weeks. I hear that you are much improved."

"I trust so, my lord, " she said, her smile shy, "for I could scarcely get much worse."

He laughed, a rich, pleasing sound. "I think perhaps you are too hard on yourself. I heard you hit the target on your very first day."

"Only once, my lord, and with Haldir's aid."

"He is a fine teacher, Elanor. You are fortunate indeed. And I hear that Lurien has also been assisting you."

Elanor nodded, unsure what to say. "And Rúmil and Orophin also," she added, not really wishing to talk about Lurien. She and Lurien had not spoken in many days, nor had he made any effort to seek her out.

Lord Celeborn nodded. "Many teachers, each with his own technique. And which has helped you the most?"

"Oh, Haldir, of course," she said quickly, then wished she had pretended to consider the question for a few seconds before answering. Lord Celeborn's blue eyes suddenly seemed very wise and acutely perceptive.

"Elanor," he said in a reflective tone, "has anyone told you about the ladies' archery competition that we hold each year? I think you might enjoy it."

Elanor tightened her grip on her bow. "Healea told me about it, my lord. She said it is your event."

"Yes, I am the one who first introduced it, long ago, and I organize it each year. Of course many of our ellith could compete against the males, and some do, in other contests. Still, I think it is pleasant to have an all female event for those who are not comfortable entering other competitions."

"I think it is a fine idea," Elanor agreed, without being too sure she actually did agree. But she was certainly not going to contradict the lord of Lórien. Feeling she ought to say something else, she added, "but I would not have a chance of winning."

"Winning need not be your objective," the elf lord said, rather gently. "To play a part, to make an effort, to take a chance . . . these are all good reasons, Elanor. But of course it is your decision. The list of competitors can be found inside the archery hut. There is still time to add your name. The competition is two weeks hence."

Elanor nodded half-heartedly. "I will think about it, my lord. Thank you. It was kind of you to tell me about it." She gave him a small bow.

He inclined his head in answer. "You are welcome, Elanor." He walked away, taking the broad staircase leading to the central court in the mighty trees. Sentinels standing along the steps saluted him with their hands on the heart.

Elanor hurried away, her thoughts churning. Ever since Healea had mentioned the competition, she had been trying not to think about it. She had been convinced that Healea had suggested it because she wanted to see Elanor make a fool of herself. But surely that would not be Lord Celeborn's intent. Should she consider it? She shuddered at the thought. Yet how could she refuse Lord Celeborn's invitation?

She reached the archery field and saw Haldir, but he was occupied talking to Beredain and Rúmil. Ignoring them, she took her usual place and commenced her target practice. One by one her arrows flew through the air and landed either to the left of the right of the target. However, the last one struck the edge, and she dared to sneak a peek in Haldir's direction to see if he had noticed. He appeared not to be watching, but she doubted he had missed it. She had found that he missed very little. Rúmil, on the other hand, made it clear that he had seen, for he offered her a smile that was obviously meant to convey sympathy. Elanor returned his smile and tried to conceal her chagrin and vexation with herself. Would it have been too much to ask that she could have landed a few arrows in the right spot when there was someone there to see?

Rúmil watched Elanor walk down and collect her arrows, then return to start all over again just like he himself had done incalculable times during his life. He did not exactly feel sorry for her because she was in fact doing well considering what a novice she was. On the other hand, he had seen novices who did much better than Elanor. Fortunately, he knew it could not matter to her all that much.

He wandered over to greet her, thinking it might help him to get his mind off . . . someone else. "You're doing well, Ellie," he said heartily. "Got one that time, eh? Very good."

She gave him a slightly reproachful look. "I am not doing well, Rúmil. I have had days when I did well, but this does not appear to be one of them."

"Do we still make you nervous?" he inquired, his nod including Beredain and Haldir. He'd thought she would have gotten over that by now.

"Not nervous, exactly, but I suppose I must get distracted when people watch." Her lips quirked. "Or when I think they might be watching."

He tried to decide what to say that might be helpful. "Well, that must mean you need people to watch you so you can grow accustomed to it. I could have hundreds of elves watching me, and it would not affect my aim." He shied away from the thought that flitted through his mind, that there was indeed one person who could distract him ever so slightly. He would not think of _her_.

Elanor had been about to take aim, but she lowered her bow and looked at him instead. "Rúmil, may I ask you something?"

"Of course," he said genially. "Anything at all."

"Will you give me your honest opinion of something? It has been suggested to me that I might like to enter the ladies' archery contest. Do you think I should?"

Rúmil suppressed his first horrified reaction, and pretended to give the question serious consideration. "Well, Ellie . . . hmmm. Interesting question. Do I think you should enter . . . Do you think you should enter, that is the real question. Uh . . . who suggested this to you?"

"No, Rúmil, I do not think I should enter. Nor do you, obviously. It was Lord Celeborn who suggested it."

"Oh," he said feebly. "Well. In that case . . ."

"Never mind. I can see your answer on your face."

"Now, Ellie," he protested, then stopped himself. Had he not promised to be honest? "Very well, I will tell you the truth. No, I do not think you should enter the competition. Perhaps next year . . ." Then he remembered she might not be here next year. "But you will not be here then . . ." He stopped, recalling that she and Haldir appeared to have some sort of relationship that might change that circumstance, and added, "But if you _are_ here, then it is faintly possible that . . ." He stopped, regretting his use of the word 'faintly'. "It is quite possible," he corrected, "that you will be ready by then. And then again, perhaps not."

Elanor looked at him, her blue eyes concealing her thoughts, and when she spoke it was with dignity. "Thank you, Rúmil. I value your honesty."

"You should talk to Haldir about it," he advised, somewhat uneasily. Perhaps he should not have discouraged her. He did not want to undermine what confidence she had gained.

"I may do that," she said briefly. "Now do go away, Rúmil, so I can practice."

Rúmil sketched a small bow and walked away.

By the time Haldir appeared at her side, Elanor was thoroughly and heartily disgusted with herself. She had not landed a single arrow on the target since Rúmil had left. To test herself, she had imagined that she stood in competition, and the mere pretence of it affected her so greatly that all her shots had gone wild. And she was using one of the closest targets!

In truth, she was a terrible archer, the worst in all of Lórien. She could not even call herself an archer. She was only a gardener playing with bow and arrows. She was . . .

"Elanor, what are you doing?" Haldir's calm voice cut through her thoughts. "You have not held your bow correctly once while I have watched you. And look at the way you are standing. You are not focused on what you are doing."

Elanor looked down at her feet, then at her hands. Everything about her stance was wrong, and that only proved that Rúmil was right. After today's display, there was absolutely no way she was going to mention the archery competition to Haldir. Rúmil had made it clear that the idea was ludicrous, and she certainly did not want to see Haldir look at her with the same pity she had seen in Rúmil's face. Lord Celeborn had only been being kind.

She glanced up at Haldir and was grateful to see no condemnation or judgment in his expression. "I think I am just a little tired," she said. "I did not sleep well last night."

"Not more nightmares, I hope." Haldir's eyes raked over her face with a concern so genuine, so palpable, that all else faded. Thoughts of archery flew from her head. Even time seemed to stop at such moments as this, as though their very souls connected in the way that their bodies yearned to do.

"No more nightmares," she said, then cast him a slightly mischievous look. "Of late my dreams have been more agreeable."

"Oh?" The echo of her own playfulness entered his eyes, and his face relaxed ever so slightly in a way that told her without words that he enjoyed this type of exchange. "Does my ward wish to tell me of these dreams?"

She smiled. "Not at this time, my guardian. Perhaps there may come a time when it would be fitting, but not here upon the archery field."

His hand moved, as though he meant to touch her, but then he did not. "Another time perhaps. I think I might like to hear more about these dreams." Then he glanced at the target she had failed to hit, adding, "You had best stop for today. I must go attend to a few matters, but I will dine with you later. That will give you time to bathe and rest, if you like."

Elanor nodded, and accompanied him as far as the archery hut, where spare bows and quivers were stored for those who might wish for their use. While Haldir veered off in one direction, she could not resist the urge to dodge inside the hut and look around. Spying the parchment tacked into the wall, she walked over and ran her eye over the list of the ellith who had signed it. There were more than fifteen names so far, and most were not elves she knew at all well. Several she had never spoken to or even met, but one name stood out among the others. Healea. Well, Healea has said she meant to enter, so this was no surprise. And Healea's friends, Arnis and Túre, were also among those listed. Elanor grimaced.

With an inward shrug, she left the hut and made her way through the trees in the direction of the nearest of the city's beautiful spiraling stairways that led into the heights of the great mellyrn trees. Just as she set a foot on the first step, she caught sight of Orophin strolling in her direction.

"Ellie!" he called out, beaming at her as though the mere sight of her brought him immense delight. He had been smiling like this for days, which she secretly found highly amusing.

"Good afternoon, Orophin," she replied, wondering if he was going to start thanking her yet again for the encouragement she had given to Doria.

"I wanted to thank you," he said, the moment he came up to her. "Doria keeps telling me what a good friend you have been to her. I just can't thank you enough. If it had not been for you . . ."

"Now, Orophin," she said, just as she had the last time, "I am sure you and Doria would have found each other without my doing anything at all."

"But you helped," he insisted, looking almost absurdly blissful. "We are so happy, and I just want to thank you."

Elanor could no longer suppress her giggles, and Orophin joined in the laughter.

"Just tell me what I can do for you in return," he insisted. "Surely there must be something. Some small service I can perform, some errand I can carry out. There must be something I can do for you, if not now, then at some point in the future."

"I can think of nothing," she replied, "except perhaps . . ."

"What?" he said enthusiastically. "Tell me . . . please, Ellie. Anything!"

Elanor hesitated, feeling ridiculous. She had already obtained Rúmil's advice; why should she seek Orophin's too? Yet she felt oddly compelled to ask.

"I would like your honest opinion, Orophin. Lord Celeborn suggested that I take part in the ladies' archery competition, and I was wondering whether you thought that was a good idea . . ." She could already see Orophin's smile growing stiff.

"Ah!" he said, much too brightly. "I almost forgot about that. You say Lord Celeborn suggested it?"

"Yes," she said, an edge to her voice.

"Well, then, if he suggested it, it must be a good idea." He paused. "But, Ellie, honestly . . . perhaps not this year. Another year, perhaps."

Elanor released a sigh. "Very well, Orophin. I will not enter. I only wanted to give it fair consideration since Lord Celeborn made a point to suggest it."

Orophin studied her closely. "Did you talk to Haldir about it? As your guardian and teacher, he is best suited to advise you on this."

Elanor turned away. "I'm not going to mention it to him. I have spoken to you and Rúmil, and you've both told me the same thing. I am a terrible archer. I would only humiliate myself if I tried to compete."

"I did not say that!" Orophin sounded shocked. "I would not dream of saying such a cruel thing, Ellie. It's only that . . . I want to spare you from . . ." He halted, and when she glanced at him, she saw that he looked most distressed. How selfish of her to spoil his good mood with such a foolish matter!

She forced a smile. "Pay no heed to me, Orophin. I am just a little tired and grouchy. You ought to go on now and meet Doria, for I am sure that is where you are headed."

Orophin's face lit up. "To be sure, that is exactly where I am going. She is cooking me a little dinner tonight to celebrate."

"Celebrate?" Elanor repeated, arching a brow. "What are you celebrating?"

"Finding each other," he said happily. "We celebrate every night."

Elanor watched Orophin take the stairs two at a time, conscious of a sudden and unexpected stab of envy. She wished she were more like Doria, easily pleased, with all her problems solved so simply. Then she scolded herself for the thought, for Doria did not deserve it. Doria was good and kind and sweet, and if she had found the love of her life in Orophin, then Elanor was glad for her. Except right now she did not feel very happy about anything. She felt frustrated.

Even though she knew her archery skills were abysmal, she had truly thought she was improving. In recent days, she had felt as though Haldir was proud of her, and so were Rúmil and Orophin. After she had spoken to Lord Celeborn, she realized now that she had actually cherished a brief, tempting image of herself entering the competition and doing reasonably well. Perhaps not winning, but coming in second or third. It had been a very pleasant little daydream while it lasted.

Lurien had been the only one who had made her believe she could be the best. And she had a sudden and powerful urge to seek him out and ask him his opinion. As strange as it seemed, she did trust him, for she had never been able to find a reason not to do so. Since they had made their bargain, he had been well-behaved, and she had hardly spoken to him since Haldir had returned. Had she hurt Lurien's feelings somehow? Did he think she was avoiding him? Did he think she did not appreciate his efforts to help?

Elanor wandered in the direction of Lurien's talan, not even sure that he would be there. She had no idea when he was on duty, or what he might be doing in his free time, but as fate would have it, he was not only at home but he opened the door only a moment after her knock. He also looked astonished to see her standing on his threshold. As always, he looked incredible—tall, elegant, and striking in his flawless beauty. He had removed his braids, and his hair draped around his shoulders like a glorious mantle of spun gold that seemed to beckon the eye.

"Elanor!" he said. "What are you doing here?"

"Am I interrupting anything?" she asked anxiously.

"Not at all. Would you care to come inside?"

Elanor hesitated, then gave a small nod. "For a moment. I only wanted to ask you something. And to ascertain that you are not angry with me."

Lurien smiled, a curve of his lips that brought back the memory of that mesmerizing power he could exert. He was too handsome, too perfect, too charming. Fortunately, she could resist him. "Of course I am not angry with you. Why should I be?"

"I thought you might think I was avoiding you."

He gave a soft laugh. "On the contrary, it is I who have been avoiding you, out of deference to your guardian's wishes. You see? I do have proper feelings. But my motivations are not to please him but rather to spare you from embarrassment."

"I would not be embarrassed if you spoke to me," she replied in confusion.

He only smiled. "You are so kind. What can I do for you?"

"I only wanted to ask your opinion." Elanor went on to repeat what she had said to Haldir's brothers, watching Lurien's face for signs of pity or distress.

"I think you should do it," he said at once. "You would do well."

"You have not seen me lately," she countered. "I was terrible today."

"A fluke," he said, with a dismissive gesture.

"Lurien, please be honest."

For a moment he seemed to hesitate. "Envision yourself winning," he said, "and it can happen. You want to be a credit to Haldir, do you not? Others judge him on his ability to teach and inspire as well as defend. Think how it will appear if you do well. Think how proud he will be of you if you win. That's what you want, is it not? His good opinion? And you want others to think well of him? If his own ward does not perform well, that reveals some lack on his part."

Elanor gazed at Lurien, feeling conflicted and confused. Of course she wanted Haldir to be proud of her, but until this moment she had not thought beyond that. Did her mediocre performance upon the archery field reflect poorly on Haldir? Of course it did. Everything she did reflected upon Haldir. Failure to enter the competition after Lord Celeborn has specifically suggested it would demonstrate a lack of courage and commitment, not only on her part, but on her guardian's. Lord Celeborn himself might lose respect for Haldir, believing him to be unable to tend to his own ward. Even Lady Galadriel might judge Haldir and find him wanting.

"Thank you," she said unsteadily. "I will think upon what you have said."

Elanor left Lurien's talan with her heart very heavy. She had much pondering to do, and little time to do it. For Haldir had told her that he was going back to the border two days hence, and she did not even know if she should talk to him about all of this. In a sense, she knew she should, and yet she knew him well enough to know that he would tell her it was nonsense. But it was not nonsense. Lurien had spoken truly.

Now she had to decide what to do. And she had to do it on her own.

Galadriel gracefully descended the rough-cut stone steps to her bower, her white dress trailing silently behind her, her bare feet whispering over the moss as she approached her mirror, drawn to it by a foreboding sense of unease. With a steady hand, she brushed back the tendrils of silver-blond hair that fell over her shoulder, and reached for her urn.

Lost in thought, she smoothed her hands over the familiar vessel, feeling its lustrous surface as she had done thousands of times in her life while she mulled over all the various events that took place in Lórien. As she often did, she planned to use her power to see what lay ahead, always praying that what she saw would be of value.

Her ancient eyes slowly refocused on her surroundings, and she walked over and dipped the urn into the nearby stream, filling it nearly to the brim before returning to stand before the mirror. Slowly and carefully, she poured the water into the silver basin, then spoke softly and breathed her magic upon the water. Calmly, she waited for the water to settle, and then leaned over it, her eyes closed for a brief moment in which she prayed for guidance and wisdom.

When she opened her eyes, it was Celeborn's face which gradually materialized, drawn from the shadows beneath the water, his familiar, calm, beloved countenance shuttered and unrevealing. Galadriel gripped the sides of the bowl, gazing closely as she sought to see more. All she could distinguish was her husband turning to look at something, then reaching out suddenly, his face wreathed with fear and concern.

But concern for whom?

Galadriel shuddered, silently willing the mirror to explain, but a hazy swirling sent Celeborn's image back into the shadows until he was gone from her view. The water calmed, and she frowned slightly at the new image. Revealed to her now was the city of the elves, Caras Galadhon, lit with a thousand lights reflecting upon themselves in the watery confluence, the steps filled with elves serenely climbing or descending with no indication of danger. Yet something was wrong; she could feel it.

The city faded, and there was nothing but her own reflection looking back at her. A message, a riddle with little information, and she had no clue what it meant.

Galadriel drew back with a sigh, conscious of rising concern. The mirror had tried to tell her something, that much was certain. But what? Was it important, or was it only a small thing? She knew not, and could not ask again this night. She stepped back, her gaze slowly pulling away from the mirror. With unhurried steps, she turned and left the bower, her questions unanswered . . . for now.

tbc


	17. Chapter Seventeen

**Chapter Seventeen**

Elanor lay in bed, unable to sleep, her mind humming with thoughts and concerns that owed their creation to Lurien and Lord Celeborn. Haldir would be leaving for the border in the morning, and she had still not spoken to him about the archery competition. Nor did she know why. She drew her knees up and stared at the arched ceiling, trying to decide what to do. Yesterday's conversation with Lurien had agitated her, made her feel pressured in a way she had not felt before. She kept wondering what Haldir would say, whether he would deny that her performance and actions reflected on him. Should she enter? And what would happen if she did?

Finally, she could bear it no longer. Pushing back the covers, she rose and straightened her nightgown, making sure the little bow at the top was securely tied. If she was going to talk to Haldir, she did not want to distract him with her attire, or to have him think she was trying to!

Taking a deep breath, she padded quietly onto the terrace and stopped short; the softest of moans was coming from the direction of Haldir's cot. Concerned, she moved forward, but saw at once that he was deep in reverie and not in any kind of pain. No doubt he only dreamed.

She lowered herself beside him, studying him and wondering if she should wake him, amazed he had not already sensed her and awoken. His blanket was pushed down to his waist, and her gaze moved over his bare chest and solid arms with admiration and tenderness. How she wished she could just touch him whenever she wished . . .

He moaned again . . . more like a deep sigh actually, and his breathing grew even more erratic. Again she frowned, unable to determine if the dream was pleasant or not, unsure if she should wake him . . . but it was clear he was not comfortable.

"Haldir," she whispered, very softly.

His eyes flew open. "Elanor!" It was very nearly a gasp, uneven in its cadence.

She reached out to touch his hand, and was caught off-guard when he seized her arm and with an unyielding pressure drew her close. "Elanor," he repeated, still breathing rather heavily. Under the heavy, dark lashes, his gaze locked with hers.

She looked back at him wordlessly, her heart thudding hard.

His fingers slid down her arm to wrap around her wrist, firmly though not painfully, but just enough to feel his vast strength. His eyes bored into hers, and for the first time she saw their burning glitter.

"I love your name," he said huskily. "Elanor." He pronounced it that odd way, with the accent on the second syllable, just as he had that night in Rivendell. "Sensual and passionate . . . like the wind in the trees . . . or a tempestuous sea on a stormy night. Or a dark red wine, rich and potent and . . . desirable. Elanor of Rivendell." He lingered on the syllables as though he made love to them.

Elanor swallowed, bemused by his behavior. "What were you dreaming?" she managed to ask.

"I dreamt of you." His gaze caressed her face, his mouth curving into a slight smile. "Yesterday you spoke of your own dreams. Tell me about them."

"Are you sure you want to hear?" she returned, feeling suddenly, ridiculously shy. To dream such things was one thing, or even to think them, but to speak of them aloud was something else. "Perhaps they might make you uncomfortable."

His face softened, so that he now looked less demanding than a moment before, then one corner of his mouth curled in a smile that was both playful and wry. "I could hardly become more uncomfortable than I already am, Elanor." He paused. "Tell me. I would take the memory with me when I leave."

"And what of your own dream? Will you share it?"

He shifted slightly, raising himself up on one elbow, his hand still holding her close. She saw his eyes move to her lips then make a fleeting perusal downward before returning to her face. "If that is your wish. Shall I speak first?"

"Yes," she said softly. "You first."

He seemed amused by her reticence. "I would have woken sooner," he murmured. "I felt your presence, but the dream was so alluring that I lingered." He drew in a ragged breath. "We were at the pond, the same one I took you to the other day. You were splashing me and laughing . . . and you had on this incredible glowing white gown, but I could see right through it, and I somehow knew you did not know that. And you were turning this way and that, and I could see every bit of you, and I had not the strength to stop looking because you were so very beautiful."

He released her wrist and laid his palm against her face, rubbing his thumb back and forth against her cheekbone as he added, with Haldir-like frankness, "I could see your breasts quite clearly, the pert little bounce they made when you moved, and then the gown was no longer there at all. And you asked me to make love to you, and then everything changed and we were lying in a field, in a mass of golden elanor, only the blooms were so huge they hid us from the world. And the next thing I knew . . . " He paused, eyeing her as though trying to assess whether he should continue . . . "the next thing I knew," he repeated, "I was buried deep inside you and I could hear your cries to continue." He paused. "That was my dream, Elanor. Now I would hear yours."

Elanor looked down, finding it hard to breathe. "In the one I had last night we were back in Rivendell," she said in a low voice. "It is a little difficult to explain. Rather embarrassing, really."

"Ah, then, it must be very interesting indeed. Do not be embarrassed, Elanor. You know I care for you. Tell me." Haldir drew her hand to his lips and pressed an open-mouthed kiss to her palm, a kiss so sensual it made her shudder.

She met his eyes with newfound daring, and what she saw there emboldened her to say, "We were in my home, in my room, and I knew my parents were away, just as they truly are. And you were tied to the bed, but you were not angry with me . . . you were teasing me and you seemed to like it." She saw his brows lift, and felt her cheeks grow hot. "It was more like a game," she added. "And I was . . . um . . . kissing you."

"Where?" He wore a faint smile on his lips, as though he immensely enjoyed this type of exchange.

"On the lips." She swallowed. "At first. And then . . . other places. Lower."

She saw him close his eyes for an instant. "Elanor, you had better go back to bed before . . ."

She leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. "You gave me pleasure one night. Will you not allow me to do that for you?" She heard the breath hiss between his teeth, and felt an instant's regret, for she did not mean to make things more difficult for him.

"No," he said, a bit raggedly, "but perhaps a kiss."

Whether she moved toward him, or whether his arm drew her close she did not know, but all at once they were together, their lips clinging in a tender yet passionate exploration that held both fire and caring. Breathing in his scent, Elanor pressed against him without reluctance, welcoming the searing heat of his mouth as it opened beneath hers, savoring the warmth and hardness of his body and the strength of his arm where it wrapped around her waist. Was this a single kiss or many kisses strung together without pause? Whatever the case, she meant to make it one he would remember and carry with him when he stood out there on the border so far away from her . . .

When at last he released her, he whispered, "I had another dream, a very nice one. Sometime I will tell you about it."

"Tell me now," she said.

He smoothed a lock of hair from her face. "Nay, I will save it. Perhaps you will have others also. I see no harm in sharing them since we . . . care for each other. But let us savor each, one at a time. And now," he said gently, "you must go back to bed. You are tempting me nearly past the limit of my endurance. Please do as I say."

There was a time when Elanor would have argued, but that time had passed. With a nod, she took his hand and lifted it to her lips, kissing his palm just as he had done with her. "Sleep well, my guardian," she murmured, and rose to her feet.

Not until she was back in the big bed, alone, did she realize that she had forgotten to mention the archery competition. Ah well. It was the last thing she wanted to think of at this moment. She would think about it tomorrow after Haldir was gone.

Rúmil sat on a branch outside his talan and gazed through an opening in the trees to the place where he knew _she_ sometimes walked late at night when she did not sleep. He knew she must be restless at times, just as he was, but he did not know why. Once he had gone and spoken to her on a night such as this one, but she had not welcomed his presence and had told him to go away, as though he were a pesky child. It had hurt his feelings just a little, he recalled . . but for some odd reason it had also increased his interest in her.

It made no sense at all.

He had known her for hundreds of years, spoken to her more times than anyone could count. They had always been friends, he believed. And she liked him, he knew she did. So why could he not attract her as he attracted so many others? It almost seemed as though she were the only unbound maiden in Lórien he could not have if he so wished. By the Valar, it was so frustrating!

For many years he hadn't really paid all that much attention to her. She had just been another one of the ellith, one of those with whom he flirted. He could recall that she used to flirt with him . . . when had she stopped? He could not exactly remember.

She wasn't even particularly beautiful. She was pretty, of course, just as all ellith were pretty. Some were prettier than others. Some, like Healea, transcended beauty in a way that was ineffable. And yet he didn't much like Healea. Beauty certainly wasn't everything, he thought with a frown.

He sighed and stretched out on the wide branch, wishing he knew what to do. Was there a way to arouse her interest? He briefly considered asking Elanor to act as his emissary in the matter, but dismissed the idea almost at once. Elanor was not as subtle as she thought, and he was not going to risk anyone finding out about this just yet. He did not really want to be mocked by his fellow wardens when this rejection meant so much to him.

What did he really want? That was the question. For so long, all he had wanted was his freedom—the freedom to be a warden of Lothlórien, to fight, to drink, to carouse, to make love, and to laugh and joke and tease. He did not wish to walk among the mortals as Haldir sometimes did. He wished to stay here, in Lórien, where he felt at home, to defend it with his strength and his life and his honor. Eventually he knew he would sail west, but not for a long time. That was all he knew for certain.

A movement in the distance caught his eye, and he leaned forward, his hand pushing aside a small branch that partially obscured his view. Ah, there she was. He knew better than to do what he'd done last time, the time she had told him to go away, which was to leap down from a high branch and startle her. Nor had slipping an arm around her waist and nuzzling his mouth into the curve of her neck helped the situation. She had actually seemed annoyed with him.

As he had done so many times before, he tried to analyze exactly what it was that drew him to her so profoundly. He knew that he liked the efficiency in her movements, the way she moved her head and her hands, the way she focused on whatever she did with all her attention. And he appreciated her dry sense of humor, not to mention her elegant figure. But it was more than this.

One incident stood out in his mind, though it had been twenty years since it happened. It had been just after one of his friends had been slain in battle. He had been trying to hide his grief and not doing it very well. The other maidens had tiptoed around, seeking not to disturb his apparent desire for solitude. He had gone into Galadriel's garden and sat there for hours just staring at the flowers, wondering why they lived while his friend was dead. And then, far into the evening, _she_ had come and sat with him, not asking permission, not saying a single word, not making a sound. She had just taken hold of his hand and held it for the longest time, until the tears had finally rolled down his cheeks and he could cry at last. He had never even looked at her, never acknowledged her presence, but he had held her hand and it had mattered. They had never spoken of it either, he now realized. He had never even thanked her.

No wonder she did not favor him.

He looked down at her now, watching the way she sat with her head bent, as though she prayed or meditated upon important matters. That was not his way either. He was not like her at all. She had told him once, a few years ago, that she preferred him to be serious, but that was not something he was inclined to do. He could not be what she wanted him to be . . . but he supposed he would woo her anyway.

Haldir was right. He had better get started and devise some sort of strategy to make her see him in a different light. He wished he had some idea what to do. Perhaps he should ask her to pose for Gwyllion so that he might have a portrait of her. What would she say to that? He would have to think about it.

Meanwhile, for tonight, he would go back to bed. Alone.

"Look for me to return in three to four weeks as before," Haldir said in the morning, his tone brisk and calm. He stood before her clad in his grey warden attire, his long, heavy sword strapped to his hip and his quiver and bow on his shoulder. He looked strong, dangerous, and wholly capable of dealing with any and all challenges and situations that might arise. "Farewell, Elanor."

Elanor nodded. She wanted to tell him that she wished he would not go, but he must surely know that, and to say the words aloud would be unhelpful. She also pushed aside the whole matter of the archery competition. To speak of that now, she realized, would only spoil the moment; she wanted their leave-taking to be light and carefree so that he might have a warm and pleasing memory to carry away with him. It would be her gift to him; she would not burden him with her own worries and concerns.

Unlike the last time he left, he did not hesitate, but simply came over and took hold of her hands, gazing steadily into her eyes. His fingers tightened on hers, then he drew her closer and kissed her rather chastely on the lips.

"Dream well," he said, with a hint of playfulness.

"Haldir," she said demurely, "that was hardly a kiss. Can you not do better?"

His chin raised, and he stared down his noble nose at her with a visible touch of arrogance. "Elanor, you are incorrigible. Do you wish me to walk through Caras Galadhon with thoughts of you disrupting my tranquility?"

With a grin, Elanor freed her hands and slid her arms around his neck, tilting her head back to look at him. "If you mean what I think you mean, your tunic will hide it."

She watched him try to look stern, but the slight twitch of his lips gave him away, and then he let out a small laugh and clamped her tightly against him. "That, my sweet ward, is not the point, nor do I consider it to be a sympathetic remark. After last night, I would think you might take some pity on me."

"Oh, I have a great deal of pity," she teased, "but you will not allow me to demonstrate it."

"I am far too lenient with you, Elanor. If you were one of my wardens, I would never tolerate such impertinence." Despite his words, she could hear the amusement in his voice and knew that he enjoyed such playfulness.

"Indeed," she said. "What would you do?"

"I would assign you to the most lonely and dreary watch duty I could find, and make sure you did not leave it until you had learned your lesson."

"Then I am very glad I am not one of your wardens. I would much rather be . . ." She stopped abruptly, wondering if she was going too far.

"Be what?" he challenged, a gleam in his eye.

She lowered her gaze to his lips. "Be your lover," she finished, her heart beating fast. "That would be much, much nicer."

He lowered his lips so that they nearly brushed hers. "You enchant me, Elanor," he murmured, "and that is something I have said to no one else before you." And then he kissed her as fully and deeply as she wished, clasping her so tightly against him that she soon felt the inevitable awakening of his interest where it pressed against her stomach. "There, I trust you are pleased with yourself," he muttered, rather wryly. "The results of this kiss are now plain enough." He pressed his forehead to hers, his breath huffing out rather unevenly.

"Perhaps it will please you to know I feel the same," she told him softly.

"It does please me," he admitted, "and makes it more difficult as well. But I am strong and can deal with it." This last statement seemed intended more for his own ears than hers. "It helps to know that one day soon we will indeed be lovers."

With these words, Haldir kissed her on the brow and left. Elanor watched him walk away, her lips still tingling and sensitive. A thrill of excitement raced through her as she reviewed the things he'd said to her, the compliment, the teasing, the promise of things to come.

Yet suddenly she was conscious of a new emotion coming forth, one that had not been present in her heart until this moment. Trepidation. What if she disappointed him? After all, she knew almost nothing about lovemaking. She did not in actual fact know what to do, even if she had offered to do it. What if the moment happened and she was nothing but a huge failure? What if she did not please him at all?

All this time she had been so bold with him, so unbelievably bold, more bold than she had ever been at any time in her life with anyone. She had not paused to analyze this, or to question why this was. She had pushed him and pushed him, and now it seemed she was going to get what she wanted—a lover. And not just any lover, but the one she wanted, the one she had yearned for night after night for weeks and months. In truth, she had wanted this for years, although in times past she had not known who he would be, nor what he would look like, nor how or when they would meet. But her heart had yearned for him for a very long time, for someone to hold and kiss and love and cherish and tease.

But now that Haldir had said the words, that they _would_ be lovers, as a statement of incontrovertible fact, everything seemed to shift. She felt unexpectedly nervous and naïve and ignorant, and terribly, terribly inexperienced. Even her dreams, as arousing as they had been, had a certain vagueness to them. Granted, Haldir realized she had no real experience, but after the way she had behaved at the pond, touching him so audaciously, he would surely expect her to know something of what she was doing. He would expect her to give him as much pleasure as he had given her, but she had no clear idea how to do that. And when he found out that she really did not know what to do, he would be patient and kind . . . and disappointed. The idea mortified her. Why had she not thought of this before?

She needed information. She needed to know what she was expected to do, what she was expected to know. And how to go about doing whatever those things were. Who should she ask? Her friends? A possibility, but then they would surely all know it was Haldir she meant to have, and thus far she had kept that secret from everyone but Doria. They would embarrass her with their teasing, and no doubt her secret would spread. Doria would keep her secret, yet Doria tended to be reticent on such matters, and Elanor had no wish to embarrass her closest and dearest friend. Who else could she ask? Who could she trust?

Only one name came to mind.

For the next few days, Rúmil continued to brood over his predicament. Haldir had left him behind in the city, once again with orders to watch over Elanor, and he knew not whether he was pleased or sorry. Orophin had been left behind too, although it was not clear whether this was due to Haldir's compassion or his inability to be within half a league of Orophin's interminable grinning. Rúmil had suggested that some time at the border might be good for Orophin, but Haldir had disagreed.

"I will need him soon enough," Haldir had said. "He can stay with Doria for now. I have others who can go in his stead."

"But it will be good for him to be parted from her!" Rúmil had groused. "By Mordor, he's getting too used to constant . . . uh . . . female company." Constant rutting, he'd been about to say, but it seemed too crass a thing to say when it included sweet Doria.

Haldir had looked at him sardonically. "Jealous?" he'd mocked.

Rúmil had been forced to acknowledge that he was, and he had not liked that because he had never been jealous of Orophin before, at least not since they had been young. He loved Orophin and wanted him to be happy, but these days each time he saw him and Doria together, gazing adoringly at each other, it only made him feel annoyed. And frustrated. And glum.

As for the object of Rúmil's affections, she appeared not to notice any change in his mood. He had spoken to her yesterday, told her she looked pretty, which she had, and she had just laughed and walked away. It had not been the reaction he'd been seeking, and had left him feeling completely nonplussed. So it had been for years, he realized. When had she stopped responding to his flirtation? Why had she stopped? What was he doing wrong?

What really worried him was the idea that she had simply matured in a way that he had not and never would. He did not like the idea that she might view him as some sort of elfling rather than as a skilled and powerful warrior who could give her great pleasure if she would only let him. For a moment, he found himself wishing she had the opportunity to see him in battle, but rapidly pushed that idea aside. He would not wish her to witness that kind of ugliness, nor to be anywhere near such violence and brutality . . . although it might change her opinion of him . . . whatever that was, he reflected morosely.

Ellith! He shook his head and sighed. He would come up with a practical plan eventually. He was not going to give up so easily, nor did he have _any_ intention of going without sex for the rest of his immortal life! The sheer idea made him queasy.

Needing a quiet place to think, Rúmil headed for Galadriel's garden. Oddly enough, it was the place he felt closest to the one he yearned for with body and soul. Sometimes he came here just to think about his slain friend, Ainon. He thought about how much he still missed him, and he also thought about those days he had spent in mourning when _she_ had come and held his hand. He had put that from his mind for a long time now, but for some reason it was resurfacing more and more often lately, especially when he came to this precise spot in the garden where it happened.

He closed his eyes, and suddenly knew someone was approaching. Wild hope flared within him. Could it be _her_? Could she possibly have known why he sat here? He waited without moving or looking around, his pulse beating rapidly, and then a shadow fell across him and she spoke.

"Rúmil, may I speak with you?" It was only Elanor.

Concealing his sharp disappointment, he turned to her with a quick and easy smile. "Of course, Ellie. Would you care to sit or shall we walk?"

"Oh, let us walk," she said quickly. She sounded a bit awkward, making him look at her with curiosity. "It is such a lovely day," she added, a bit too brightly. Something in her tone made him suspicious . . . and uneasy. He liked Elanor very much, but he also knew her tendency for landing herself in trouble. He wondered if she had done something she shouldn't have, such as signed up for that accursed archery competition.

"Indeed," he agreed, leaping to his feet. "Do you require assistance with some problem?"

"It's not exactly a problem," she assured him with her face averted. "Look, Rúmil, that bush has a new bud. Is it not beautiful?"

He watched her step closer to the rosebush, observing how she reached out to touch the plant with the same delicacy and care he might use to restore a baby bird to its nest. Rather moved, he glanced at her face, studying her profile. He could suddenly see why she might suit Haldir in a way that the other ellith did not, though he would not have been able to articulate this into any sort of logical explanation. His suspicions began to abate; perhaps she only wanted his company. After all, they had become good friends.

She cleared her throat, her eyes fixed on the other bushes as a mother might look at her children. "I have a question, Rúmil. You once told me that if I wished to know something I had only to ask you."

"That is still true," he replied with gallantry, and prayed she would not ask him about her archery again. She seemed to be looking slightly pinker than usual, but perhaps it was just the light.

She bent down to smell a rose, so that all he could see was the back of her head. "I hope my question will not embarrass you, but . . . I wish you to tell me a few things about . . . males."

"Males," he repeated, his uneasiness swiftly returning. "What about them?"

When she turned her face away again, he knew he ought to brace himself for whatever was coming next. "Rúmil, I would like you to tell me about lovemaking."

Taken aback, Rúmil tried to hide his dismay. "Ellie, uh . . . is this not something you should ask your friends? Your female friends, I mean?"

She glanced at him, her cheeks much pinker than a moment before. "I could, but then they would want to know why I was asking. And I wish to know what it is like from a male's perspective."

Rúmil floundered, desperately seeking an inspired way out of this discussion. "If you want to talk to a male, I think it should be Haldir. I mean, he _is_ your guardian . . ." His voice trailed off as he tried and failed to envision what Haldir might say to such a question.

"Haldir is not here to ask," she replied, sounding strained, "and in any case I do not wish to ask him."

"Oh," Rúmil said feebly. "Er . . . why not?"

"Because I do not want him to know that I am ignorant about a few things." She turned to him, her hands clenched, her face set in what he had come to think of as her obstinate look. "Perhaps you would prefer me to ask Lurien?"

"No!" Rúmil said emphatically. "Absolutely not! Do not even think about it!" The wheels in his head began to spin wildly. Sex was one of his favorite topics; he was very good at giving demonstrations but not so good at explanations. However, for Elanor's sake, he supposed he would have to say something. "Perhaps if you could tell me specifically what kind of information you need?" he finally said, trying to appear more composed than he felt. For the first time in his life, he had the disorienting sensation of what it might feel like to be someone's father.

"I know the basics, of course," she said, her voice a little clipped. "I'm sure you're well aware of that."

There was no accusation or coyness in her tone, just a quaint sort of dignity that tugged at his heart and filled him with sudden remorse for what he and Orophin had done back in Rivendell. Not that she hadn't played her part, but if they had realized exactly how innocent she was, they would never have removed Haldir's clothes, nor perhaps even tied him to her bed in the first place. However, that would also have meant she would still be there and not here, and for some reason he did not regret that part of it at all.

"What I wish to know," she continued with obvious discomfort, "is what is pleasurable to . . . a male. What I should do . . . or know if I wanted to . . . give pleasure to . . . someone."

"I presume you are talking about Haldir," Rúmil said, as gently and tactfully as he could manage.

She nodded, and glanced at him, her face now stained almost crimson. "Rúmil, I do not want to . . . disappoint him." The last two words came out almost as a whisper. "Can you tell me anything?"

Rúmil drew a deep breath. "Ellie," he said awkwardly, "what you have to understand is that I have no idea what Haldir enjoys. He does not tell me such things. But I imagine that if the two of you were to become close in that way, he would teach you his preferences."

Her blue eyes met his beseechingly; he could sense both her embarrassment and determination to pursue the matter. "But there must be some general guidelines. Can you not give me some ideas or . . . or hints? I don't want to be too ignorant when . . . if . . . when . . . it happens. I don't want to ruin it for him."

Rúmil felt an unexpected surge of approval. It was about time someone cared enough about Haldir to consider what he might like. Too often, the ellith only wanted Haldir because he was the March Warden and because he was handsome and attractive and skilled. Rúmil also knew that some of them found Haldir's arrogance to be a challenge. Elanor appeared to care for Haldir in a way that none of the others did, and he found this both endearing and admirable.

Unfortunately, the topic of conversation was something Rúmil had been trying desperately _not_ to think about for a number of days. Despite this, he put on a brave face and said, "I suppose I could give you some general ideas, that . . . uh . . . in my opinion most males would find . . . agreeable." He glanced around to be sure they would not be overheard. "Perhaps we should sit down."

Elanor agreed, and they found a comfortable carved bench where Rúmil could keep watch in all directions to be certain no one could sneak up on them. He swallowed hard, wondering why this was so difficult. Perhaps it was because he did not know where to start.

"Now you know what happens when we males become excited, right? I mean, you've probably seen . . . what happens," he added, thinking of the events back in Rivendell. He crossed his fingers, for if she said no, not only was she in trouble, but so was Haldir.

To his great relief, Elanor nodded again.

"Good," he said, and paused. He placed his hands on his thighs, resisting the urge to wipe the perspiration off of them. "Now then . . . ahem." He gave her a sideways glance, and gathered his wits. "Now then, the thing you should realize is that . . . _that_ part of us . . . is very sensitive . . . to the touch . . . especially when it is . . . at full salute, so to speak." Just talking about this made him want to squirm, and not with embarrassment.

"I understand," she said, leaving a blank spot in the conversation for him to fill in.

"So," he threw out quickly, "that part likes to be touched. Stroked," he added longingly. "And, um, even . . ." He hesitated. Should he say this or should he not?

"Even?" she prodded, her brows drawing together.

"Uh, kissed, you could say. Kind of making love to him . . . _that_ way. With your mouth, so to speak. In . . . uh . . . various ways."

He took a deep breath, watching her expression to see if she understood his meaning, and after a few moments decided that she had. To his relief, she did not look shocked; yet he found himself starting to sweat.

"Oh, I see," she said, after a long pause. She searched his face. "Rúmil, is this difficult for you to talk about?"

He gave her what felt like a foolish grin. "Just a bit," he admitted. "I truly think you might be better off asking one of your friends. I am not very good at explaining these things." He almost added he was extremely good at _doing_, but decided this was not a proper thing to say to Elanor. He then reflected that this whole conversation was extremely inappropriate, and that Haldir would have his head if he ever got wind of it.

Elanor sighed. "I suppose I was wrong to ask you, but you are one of my closest friends here in Lórien, and I thought you would not mind."

Rúmil reached for her hand, and held it lightly between both of his. "Ellie, I do not mind in the least. I'm sorry I did not do better. And I'm deeply honored that you trust me enough to ask me this."

"You are so good to me," she said humbly. "I apologize for embarrassing you."

"I do not mind. I should say one thing." He paused, debating within himself, then decided to take the plunge. "That last thing I was mentioning . . . about kissing . . . and making love _that_ way . . . you know . . ."

"Yes?" she asked, glancing up at him.

"That's extremely popular. Haldir may not talk about such things, but others do." He grinned sheepishly. "I am sure that my brother is no different from the rest of us in that respect, but please do not tell him I said that. I do not want to be assigned border duty without a respite for the next century."

Elanor smiled. "I won't say a word." She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. "Thank you, Rúmil. If I had a brother, I would want him to be just like you."

He bent down and kissed her back, also on the cheek. "Just watch the teeth," he whispered, then much to his horror, he actually felt himself blush.

Elanor giggled, and Rúmil could not help but laugh in response, which for some reason made her giggle all the more. And the two of them laughed so long and so hard that the tears eventually rolled down their cheeks, and in due course Rúmil slipped his arm around Elanor's shoulders and gave her an affectionate hug. It was a moment each of them would remember forever, the start of their true and everlasting friendship.

Elanor had spent so much time worrying about lovemaking that she had almost forgotten about the archery contest, but a chance sighting of Lord Celeborn the next day brought the matter once more into her mind. She had not even gone to the archery field since Haldir had left, mostly because she had wanted to avoid thinking about the whole business. Yet instead of the archery field, she had gone to the Lady's garden to work among the plants, feeling that their soothing and healing energy were better suited to her present mood. She dug patiently into the soil, working her way around the roots of a delicate young plant she intended to move, while she pondered.

Was it better to bravely enter the competition and risk public failure and humiliation? Or was it better not to enter—the less courageous choice, but one that would spare herself, and Haldir, from the embarrassment of her inevitable failure. Which was the better choice? Her mind went around and around in circles. Lord Celeborn had suggested it. Rúmil and Orophin had said no, Lurien had said yes. What she did reflected upon Haldir. Haldir owed his position to the Lord and Lady. If their respect for Haldir diminished, might his position be in jeopardy or his judgments called into question? How would Galadriel and Celeborn react? It was dreadful enough that they already knew about the disgraceful Rivendell incident. If, in all these weeks, Haldir had been unable to teach her to shoot straight or to display a modicum of courage, would that not lower their opinion of his ability to lead?

Elanor frowned at the thought. She would never forgive herself if Haldir lost the respect of his Lord and Lady because of something she did or did not do. Lord Celeborn had suggested she enter the competition, that was what she had to consider. Doubtless he had mentioned it to Galadriel . . . or was it being too conceited to think that her doings might be a topic of conversation between the ruling couple? On the other hand, she trusted Lurien, and what he had said to her made sense. Her actions and decision reflected upon Haldir. So what should she do? Either choice seemed wrong—to show a lack of courage or a lack of skill. Which was the lesser evil?

"Elanor," said a smooth male voice, "hard at work in the garden, as always. You are as devoted to these flowers as you are neglectful of your archery."

"It has only been two days, Lurien," she replied, without looking up. "I will get back to it."

She felt him sit down behind her, a little to her left. "I would hope so," he said, "after all the practice you put in, and all the progress you have made."

She glanced around at him, noting the apparent sincerity in his expression. "Are you serious? Do you truly think I have made that much progress?"

"Progress is not a steady thing," he said. "One goes forward, and then back, and then forward once more. You have done this several times. Yet overall, yes, I feel that you have made progress." He reached over and placed his hand over hers for just a moment, but not long enough for her to justify making an objection.

"What if I enter and make a fool of myself? What then?"

He gave an enigmatic smile. "Indeed, what then? Can you deal with the consequences? Can Haldir?"

"Even if I enter, he will not see it," she returned, ignoring the exact nature of his question. "He has gone to the border for a month. Surely you know this."

"Did you not speak to him about it?" Lurien asked with raised brows. "Did he not advise you one way or the other?"

"I think this is a decision I must make myself," she said tightly. She did not like to discuss Haldir with Lurien; it somehow felt like a betrayal.

"That may be, but you need to remember that a lack of courage on your part reflects poorly upon him."

"So does a lack of skill," she shot back, "as you so kindly pointed out."

He did not answer at once, and when he did, he sounded amused. "Are you angry with me, Elanor?"

"No!" she snapped, and then sighed. "I'm sorry, I did not mean to sound like that. I am only confused."

"Then I will leave you to your thinking," Lurien replied. "Later, I will meet you upon the archery field. We will resume your lessons today."

Startled, Elanor glanced up. She had almost forgotten about that.

"We made a bargain," he reminded her with a gleam. "I expect you to hold fast to it, as I hold fast to my end of it."

"I would like to end our bargain," she said.

"But I would not."

She stared at him, noting the way his striking blue eyes held hers almost effortlessly. "Why, Lurien?"

"Because I want to help you, Elanor. Have I not made that clear?"

"Perhaps we could strike a new bargain," she suggested in a hopeful tone.

"An interesting idea." He lifted one perfect eyebrow. "What did you have in mind?"

She lowered her eyes. Of course, she had not thought that far ahead; she had not thought of him at all. "Well . . ."

"I will think on it," he said gently, "but until we strike a new bargain, our old one holds. I should hate to think that your word means nothing. That would not reflect at all well upon you . . . or your guardian."

"Very well," she said shortly, "I will meet you on the archery field later, just as we did before."

With exquisite grace, he rose to his feet, towering over her as he gazed down. As he always did, he looked extraordinarily beautiful, yet utterly masculine and rather dangerous. "Excellent decision, Elanor. Until later then."

Feeling strangely cold, Elanor followed him with her eyes as he threaded his way around a flower bed and moved out of sight. Suddenly she did not trust him quite as much as she had before.

Elanor sat in her chair that evening, her hands clasped in her lap. She hardly noticed the breeze that sifted through the open windows, rustling the leaves and carrying the sweet scent that seemed unique to Lórien. Instead, she stared at her fingers, her thoughts going around and around. She still had not come to a decision about the competition. The only thing she knew was that she had made a great mistake in not discussing it with Haldir. That had been foolish. Very foolish.

He was the one person whose opinion she should have sought even though the final decision was rightly hers. And she knew very well that he expected her to tell him such things, and would be disapproving of her failure to do so when he found out. That he would find out, one way or another, she had no doubt at all.

The afternoon had been a disaster. She had taken her bow and quiver and gone to the archery field and found Lurien waiting there as she had expected. Within moments, Rúmil had shown up, and it had begun all over again. She had tried to put them out of her mind and concentrate, focusing on her stance, the way she held the bow, the placement of her feet. She had pretended Haldir was nearby, and that seemed to help, for her very first arrow had hit the target. But Lurien had felt the need to compliment her, and that had distracted her, and then Rúmil had told Lurien to stop distracting her, and then the two of them had gone off and held a low-voiced, none-too-friendly conversation that she had tried hard not to hear. But she had not been able to hit the target again.

What was she going to do about Lurien?

A light tap on the door interrupted her thoughts, and when she opened the door she found Doria waiting outside, a big, happy smile on her face. Elanor invited her in, thankful that at last Orophin was not with her, although she felt a little guilty for the thought.

"Orophin is resting," Doria explained, and then blushed fiery red.

Elanor decided not to ask her why Orophin required rest so early in the evening. "It is good to see you," she said instead. "You must be so pleased he did not return to the border with Haldir."

"Oh, I am! When he does leave, I will be brave, of course." She did a little twirl around the room. "Ellie, I have to tell you a secret, that is why I am here. You are the only one I will tell until I decide." She stopped in front of Elanor and grinned. "Orophin has asked me to bind with him."

Elanor blinked. "Oh Doria! Oh my, what a wonderful surprise!"

"It is not a decision to be lightly made, but in truth I think I will say yes. I cannot imagine loving anyone the way I love Orophin. I feel like I am floating above the ground whenever I am with him! I never felt like that with anyone else. And I have known him all my life, and I know what a truly _good_ elf he is."

Elanor leaned forward and embraced Doria. "I am so happy for you," she said sincerely. "Truly, truly happy."

They talked for some time about the seriousness of the decision, and then about Orophin and how wonderful and thoughtful and splendid he was, but eventually Doria changed the subject, saying, "Lurien says you may enter this archery competition, but Orophin thinks perhaps you will not. Have you decided yet?"

Elanor shook her head. "I am still trying to make up my mind."

Doria nodded understandingly. "I wish I could help you decide, but I cannot. If you do decide to enter, just be sure to stay in the novice category. That way, you won't have to go against Healea."

"Oh? Is Healea so fine an archer?" Elanor could not resist asking.

"She has been the reigning champion for at least the last seventy-five years," Doria answered seriously. "She is very, very good. Haldir was also her instructor, I've been told." Elanor tried to conceal her dismay, but Doria must have seen it for she added quickly, "I am sure you could be just as proficient, Ellie. It will simply take a while. Healea was not always as skilled with a bow as she is now."

Elanor's heart sank as she absorbed this information. "I see," she said.

"Ellie, don't let that influence you. If you wish to enter, then enter! I will come and watch you. Orophin and I will both be there to support you."

Elanor studied Doria's lovely face, the intensity and real concern in her blue eyes. "That is very kind of you," she said with a forced smile.

Doria gave a funny little snort. "It is not kind. It is what friends do. I would expect you to do the same for me . . . except I have never learned to shoot. I admire you so much for what you are doing. Have I told you that? I think it is so exciting that you have learned so much in such a short time. And I am so proud that my brother has a role in helping you."

Elanor had not the heart to tell her that Lurien had been of little help. The conversation shifted back to Doria and Orophin's newfound happiness and potential binding, and then Doria took her leave.

Alone once more, Elanor went out upon the terrace and sat among the plants, seeking with their assistance to restore herself to a state of inner harmony. Little by little, she found herself growing calm at last, and with this peace came the ability to think more clearly. Which was worse? To be a coward or to lack skill?

The answer was obvious. To be a coward was a lack in character rather than a lack of talent, and while both were important, character mattered more than skill. Furthermore, she clearly remembered that Haldir had said that he admired her courage. What had he said exactly_? You have many admirable qualities worthy of respect._

And the one he had mentioned first was courage.

She could not risk destroying that. She could not risk him changing his opinion of her, thinking less of her. It was so important that he think well of her, else how could she expect him to learn to love her? She shoved aside her concern that a poor performance would embarrass him. She would just do her best. At least she knew he would not be there to see it if she lost, and that would make it easier.

The decision made, she left the talan and stepped out into the night, making her way down the multitudes of steps, determined to sign her name on the parchment right away before she lost her nerve. She _would_ do it. She _would_ enter the competition.

She repeated this over and over to herself as she walked.

She reached the archery hut unnoticed, save for several Sentinels she had passed along the way. Entering, she glanced around in the dimness, searching for ink and quill, then spied them on the small table in the corner, nearly hidden in the deep shadows. She picked them up, and went to look once more at the list of names. There was only a single list, rather than two, but she now noticed the designation at the top, showing how to indicate which category she wished to enter. There appeared to be only two, novice and expert, but she saw no other contestants in the novice category. Surely she could not be the only one?

Hesitating, she bit her lip, then pushed aside her misgivings and dipped the quill into the ink. With a hand that trembled only slightly, she signed her name, adding the word 'novice' next to it to be sure there could be no mistake.

Heaving a sigh, she returned the ink and quill to the table, and paused once more before the list, gazing at it with a pounding heart.

She had done it. She had found her courage.

So why did she suddenly feel so scared?

tbc


	18. Chapter Eighteen

**Chapter Eighteen**

Several days later, Elanor strolled along one of the highest walkways of the city while she pondered the problem of Lurien. What sort of bargain could she strike with him that would satisfy him enough to leave her alone? What would he accept in exchange for a cessation of the archery lessons?

Deep in thought, she wandered onto one of the observation flets, a pleasant and relaxing area decorated with intricate urns filled with greenery ranging from flowerless, broad-leafed ferns to pansies, snapdragons and primroses. Between the urns, several graceful stone-carved statues stood around its perimeter. Her attention was drawn to one of the plants, and she went over to it, her hand automatically reaching out to touch the drooping leaves.

"Good day, Elanor."

At the sound of the greeting, Elanor swung around.

"I did not mean to startle you," Lord Celeborn said pleasantly. He had been sitting on the far side of the flet, near a statue of a beautiful elf-maiden that Elanor now realized had hidden him from her view. He had risen to speak with her, his blue robes and silver hair luminous amidst the shaded greenery.

"Do not allow me to interrupt you," he added. "I was just contemplating that plant, wondering what was wrong with it. Do you know?"

Elanor turned back to the plant and pressed her fingers to one of the leaves while aligning herself with its essence. After a few moments, she looked back at Celeborn. "It is distressed, my lord, because another plant which it admired was relocated. The second plant grew from a clipping made from this plant." She glanced around. "But I do not see another plant like this one."

Lord Celeborn smiled apologetically, looking slightly less regal than a moment before. "Ah, then I am to blame. I moved it to our private terrace. I will see that it is returned." He paused, seeming to assess her for a moment before he gestured with his hand. "Will you come and sit with me?"

With a nod, Elanor did as he requested, wondering what she should say. She felt suddenly shy, as though she were claiming too much of Lord Celeborn's attention. He intimidated her more than Lord Elrond did, although the Lord of Rivendell could also be intimidating. But Lord Celeborn's eyes were mild as they rested on her.

"Elanor, everyone in Lórien is precious and of equal concern. That includes you."

"I am not from Lórien, my lord. I should not trouble you—"

"You are a guest, and that makes you even more important. That is why, as a guest, I want you to be welcomed at everything we do and at all our events." His eyes stayed fixed on her face. "That is why I made sure to mention the archery competition."

Elanor smiled wanly. Things were not getting easier.

"Have you made a decision about the competition?" the elf lord inquired.

Elanor swallowed. "I did, my lord. I have entered in the novice category."

"Ah, very good." He appeared pleased. "Not many will sign up for novice, but we usually have a few. I am sure you will enjoy it." When she did not answer, he gave her a rather quizzical glance. "What is wrong, Elanor?"

She forced a smile. "Nothing, my lord. I suppose I am just a little nervous about competing."

"That is natural," he agreed, "but it will pass. What is Haldir's advice?"

"I did not actually mention it to him," she answered awkwardly.

There was a moment of silence, then Lord Celeborn said, "Elanor, I am concerned. Do you feel unable to seek your guardian's counsel?"

Elanor tensed. What lay behind the question? Would her failure to speak to Haldir damage him in Lord Celeborn's eyes?

"Oh no!" she said hastily. "I am sure I could talk to him about anything. Haldir is a wonderful guardian . . . patient and kind and knowledgeable and fair . . . and every other excellent quality one could think of. It merely . . . slipped my mind. And now he is gone so I cannot ask him. I spoke with Rúmil and Orophin though . . ."

"And they advised you to enter?"

"Er . . . no, in truth they advised me _not_ to enter," she admitted.

Lord Celeborn cocked an eyebrow. "So what decided you?"

Elanor moistened her lips. "Well, my lord . . . I decided to try to confront my fear. I am not a very good archer, but it is not Haldir's fault so you must not think that. He has done his best with me, truly."

He studied her with eyes that seemed far too shrewd and assessing for comfort. "You need not participate if you would rather not."

"I would like to," she said bravely, "unless you think I would dishonor Haldir if I did poorly."

Lord Celeborn smiled, a warm smile that greatly reassured her. "Child, your feelings do you credit. My advice is this. Compete and do your best, and you will dishonor no one."

He rose gracefully to his feet and once again became the regal, rather distant presence that was the Lord of Lórien. He nodded a courteous farewell and slowly walked away while Elanor watched him, wondering whether she had successfully thwarted any potential problems before they came to pass.

Now that it was too late, it occurred to her that she might have discussed her quandary over Lurien with the Lord of Lórien. Then again, perhaps not. He would expect her to take up such matters with Haldir; to do otherwise might imply that she questioned Haldir's ability to advise her wisely or to deal with Lurien. She decided she had done the right thing by keeping silent. Yet she stood no closer to a solution.

As for Celeborn himself, he was wondering just how long Elanor had been in love with Haldir . . . and whether Haldir was aware of it. He also wondered if Galadriel knew, and decided that she probably did. She knew almost everything . . . except the meaning of her most recent vision in the mirror.

Rúmil saw them from the distance—Elanor, Tarwë, Nerwen, Doria and Gwirith, all headed for the bathhouse. With lightning quickness, he ducked behind a tree, not wanting them to know he was in the vicinity. They were talking quietly amongst themselves, unaware that he was near, and that was the way he wanted it to stay.

It had been many years since he had attempted to eavesdrop on the ladies in the bathhouse, and the one time he'd done it, he had not been caught. Others did it occasionally, and their tales and juicy tidbits often entertained the wardens on the border. Rúmil always enjoyed hearing that sort of thing. Whatever he might hear today, however, would be for him alone, for he cherished the hope that Elanor might yet decide to bring up the subject of lovemaking with her friends. And Rúmil was very interested to hear what one of those ladies in particular had to say on that subject, especially if his own name happened to come up. Which it probably wouldn't.

Once they were safely inside the bathhouse, he considered the best approach. He knew that others had simply walked straight up and hovered nearby, but there was no place to conceal oneself, and those who used such tactics were found out more often than not. And Rúmil had no intention of risking discovery, not when _she_ was involved. Her opinion of him was low enough already.

Instead, he studied the surrounding branches, and chose one for its size and its sturdiness. Though its location was not ideal, it offered possibilities, for it was wide enough and had sufficient leaves to hide him from above and below. Whether or not he would be able to hear anything from that distance was uncertain, but his hearing was extremely good and he would take the chance.

Rúmil was well aware that such an action was rather pathetic, but he was desperate. He needed to formulate a plan, and he needed ideas. Despite their long friendship and despite all the times that he had flirted with her, sex was not a topic she and he had ever discussed, and he was very curious what she might say about it. Like Elanor, he needed information, and if Ellie was brave enough to do what she had done, why, he ought to be able to do this one small thing.

Somehow he made it out to the branch without being seen, although a Sentinel had walked by the nearby set of steps just as he'd reached a place of concealment. That had been too close for comfort, and it was a very good thing that he was so extremely proficient at stealth or he would have been seen.

He stretched out on the branch, careful not to disturb the leaves, and closed his eyes, focusing on his sense of hearing.

To his disgust, 'Orophin' was the first word he heard. He could just make out Doria's voice, for she was speaking very softly. Something about how wonderful Orophin was, how caring and considerate and devoted. Some female laughter followed. Then Orophin's name was mentioned again. And again. And again. And then the conversation turned to gowns and domestic matters. There was no mention of either lovemaking or himself. Rúmil sighed in frustration. This had been a complete waste of time.

Giving up, he quietly eased his way back the way he had come and prepared to leap down to a nearby set of steps. Instead, he froze, for a tall, still figure stood there, watching him with a quiet smile on her serene and lovely face.

"Good day, Rúmil," said the Lady of Light.

"Good day, my lady," he responded automatically. He knew he was turning red and felt like a complete fool. He ought to have known he would get caught.

"Would you care to walk with me for a while? I am going to my garden." Her expression gave him no hint of her thoughts, yet he somehow knew she made no judgment of his actions.

"I would be honored," he said earnestly, and leaped over to the steps, landing with his customary surefootedness. The Lady often invited her people to walk with her so this was not unusual, but he wished she had not seen him on the branch. Should he try to explain himself? Perhaps not.

Neither of them spoke until they reached the garden, whereupon Galadriel began commenting on the various plants and how much she appreciated the work that Elanor was doing. Rúmil responded appropriately to each of her remarks and left it to her to turn the conversation where she willed.

To his surprise, she led him to the place where he had sat that day, mourning for Ainon. "Rúmil," she said gently, "Ainon is not lost. He is in Mandos and at peace. You know he can re-embody someday if he wishes it. I believe you will see him again, and that your reunion will be more joyful than you can imagine."

Unable to speak, Rúmil only gazed at her, awed by the intensity and depth of compassion he saw in the Lady's ancient sapphire eyes.

"He gave his life for a purpose," she continued. "He saved four others, knowing he would die. His valor and selflessness will be taken into account."

Rúmil bowed his head, wondering why she had not tried to comfort him at the time the event had occurred. He felt her dip into his mind and take this thought, which meant that she intended him to feel it, for she could easily have read him without his knowledge.

"It was not my task to comfort you," she informed him in a serious tone. "There was another who chose that task for herself."

"I know," he said guiltily. "And I have not yet thanked her." He gazed downward, deeply ashamed, but Galadriel lifted his chin with the tips of her fingers, forcing him to meet her eyes.

"She knew you valued her comfort," she said in a gentle tone.

Rúmil gazed at her hopefully. "Do you think I have a chance with her, my lady?"

Galadriel smiled. "You should know by now what I will say to that. There is always hope, Rúmil."

"Alas, I was _hoping_ for something more specific, my lady," he said a bit cheekily, and was rewarded with one of the Lady's beautiful, silvery laughs.

"And my hope is that you will resolve this yourself. But I will tell you this. Each of us is precious, and we can never be anyone other than ourselves. Embrace who you are, Rúmil of Lórien, and all else will fall into place."

Rúmil continued to ponder this later as he headed to the archery range to work off some of his excess energy. Elanor was not there, which was rather a relief since he felt he had to keep an eye on her whenever she and Lurien had a 'lesson'. He had never liked Lurien, but had long ago decided that the elf posed no serious threat to Haldir. His brother and Lurien ignored each other, and so it had been for centuries. But today was not a day that Rúmil had the patience to deal with Lurien. Instead, he wanted to create a sensible, foolproof plan to woo the elleth of his choice. With a sigh, he thought of Galadriel's advice about embracing who he was. It wasn't himself he wanted to embrace at the moment!

An hour of archery practice took the edge off his frustration and helped to calm him, although insights into the merry ways of successful courtship continued to elude him. Still having no plan, he shouldered his bow and left the field, passing by the archery hut as he had so many times before. The sight of it reminded him of Elanor and the archery contest, and on impulse he turned around, intending to look at the list he knew would be posted inside, just to assure himself that she had not done anything foolish . . . like sign it.

Of course she had heeded his advice, he reflected as he walked toward the door. He and Orophin had each told her the same thing, and she had listened.

Of course she had not.

He stared incredulously at Elanor's name, the last on the list. What was she thinking? Did public humiliation appeal to her? Did she not respect his opinion? Did she not respect Orophin's opinion? And what in the name of Eru was he supposed to do about this?

He had better go and talk to Orophin about it. He only hoped he did not arrive at an inopportune time, then grinned at the thought and changed his mind. It would serve Orophin right if he _did_ interrupt him at that crucial moment! His brother had been having entirely too much excitement lately, in his opinion.

Later that afternoon, Rúmil congratulated himself on his luck, for he was certain he had managed to knock on Orophin's door at the most inconvenient moment anyone could choose. He had seen Doria go inside, and had waited what seemed like an appropriate length of time before proceeding to hammer on the door. Not that Orophin had said anything specific, but from the highly peculiar expression on his face and the length of time it took for him to come to the door, not to mention the amusing fact that his leggings were on with the wrong side facing out, well, it was obvious.

Rúmil pretended not to notice, hoping if it appeared unintentional, he might get away with doing it again before Orophin caught on.

Upon being informed that Elanor had entered the archery competition, Orophin grimaced. "Sweet Elbereth, has she lost her mind?"

Rúmil shook his head. "I blame it on Lurien. Somehow he has convinced her that she is more skillful than she is."

"He is doing his best to cause trouble. But why? Is it to hurt Elanor or our brother?"

"I cannot believe he wishes to hurt Elanor, but I fear that will be the outcome. If Elanor embarrasses herself too greatly, she may decide to leave Lórien at the end of the year. And I suspect that would not fall in with Haldir's wishes."

Orophin considered this with a frown. "Haldir must be told. There is time yet to get a message to him. If he writes to Elanor and tells her to remove her name from the list, she will heed him."

"I suppose it is possible." Rúmil tried not to sound doubtful.

"Can you attend to this? I have, uh, something rather important to do at the moment." Orophin was trying to look both nonchalant and very, very busy.

"Certainly," Rúmil agreed genially, and had the door shut in his face. Somehow he had managed to conceal his mirth until he was far away from Orophin's talan, and then he had completely lost control and laughed until the tears rolled down his cheeks.

Once recovered, he had written out the missive and sent it off with a pair of elves who were shortly to be on their way to join Haldir's patrol at the fences. He then sat down and considered his own situation. Again. And he finally came to a decision. He would take her a gift. But what?

He rummaged through his various possessions, searching for some token or keepsake that might be meaningful enough to impress her, yet not so strong a statement that it might put her off. He finally came upon an item that he thought might do the trick.

It was a carving he had made some years back of a female deer bending down to nuzzle her young offspring. Mother and child, frozen together in a tender tableau, a moment borne from the mingling of many fond memories. He had always enjoyed observing woodland creatures, and had a deep affinity for them. He held the carving in his hand, regarding it with a slight smile while wondering if she would find it as pleasing as he did. He also wondered what he would say to her, and for the first time understood some of what Orophin had gone through with Doria. One thing he knew he would not do and that was to deliver it anonymously!

Rúmil tucked the carving into a pouch and headed out the door. Night had already fallen; somewhere in the distance he heard singing, as one often did here in the city. However, when he neared her talan he heard voices coming from her terrace. He paused, listening, and realized she had several guests, both male and female. It was a gathering of friends and he had not been invited.

Feeling rather sad, he turned back to his talan. He had no intention of giving up, but this was not the time to pursue his chosen course of action. He would wait for a more favorable moment to present itself. He hoped it would be soon.

Tarwë lay on her side, savoring the stillness and sheer perfection of the dawn. The first birdsong had not yet begun, so that the only sound that came to her ears was the soft, even rhythm of Lurien's breathing as he slept. Her gaze drifted over his golden hair where it spilled across the pillow within easy reach of her fingers. In repose, he had a curiously vulnerable look that made him even more beautiful in her eyes.

In truth, she had always seen that vulnerability in him. It was what she loved about him, and it was why she continued to wait, year after year, for him to come to his senses. Galadriel had spoken to her once about this during a particularly difficult time, and Tarwë remembered the Lady's words. "One day his perspective will shift, and when it does he will see with clarity," she had said. "As for you, Tarwë, daughter of Tarlon, you are both the candle and the mirror that reflects it. Do not withhold from yourself what you would give to him." Tarwë had had many years to reflect on the wisdom of this advice. Too many years, it seemed.

Lurien chose that moment to open his eyes and look at her. "Good morning, love," he said. He always called her 'love' when they were together like this, but she always wondered if he did the same with others. Most likely he did.

He lifted a hand and touched the side of her face with the backs of his fingers in a gesture that seemed very gentle. He also looked as though he meant to speak, but he did not. Instead he rolled over and pulled her close, hooking one long, muscular leg around both of hers. Late last night he had arrived, entered her talan without knocking and her bed without asking. And of course she had not protested. She never did.

He had made urgent, voracious love to her, followed by a longer more tender session, and then they had rested for the remaining hours of the night. And now, as he turned to her once more, she could see his intent in his eye. His hand reached out to caress the curve of her hip, roving over her flesh with renewed interest. She answered him with a touch of her own, her hand gliding over the contours of his naked shoulder and down his arm, then over to his broad chest, where she flicked one flat male nipple until it puckered.

With a tiny growl, he captured her wrists, playfully pinning them above her head while he rolled on top of her and grinned. "Now I have you where you belong," he murmured seductively. His hair flowed like a golden waterfall around her face, creating an intimate world with his beautiful face at its center. His eyes held the playful sparkle she loved to see.

"I think you are far too spent from last night's activities to do what you are thinking," she told him, knowing how this game worked.

"Too spent, eh?" He shifted, pressing the fullness of his erection against her thigh. "Are you so sure of that?"

"Quite sure," she said, trying to free her wrists, which he did not allow, as she knew he would not. She gazed up into his laughing blue eyes, knowing she was foolish to enjoy this so much, knowing he enjoyed it too, this little power struggle between them. "Free me, Lurien, or I will not allow you to—" He cut her off with a kiss so deep and searing it put an end to all lucid thought.

"I think you will allow me to do anything I like," he whispered, and rubbed his tongue along the sensitive rim of her ear until she moaned. His knees aggressively parted hers, again not asking, just proceeding with this game of sexual dominance in which he liked to indulge. He raised himself up on his elbows and positioned himself so that his hardened sex pressed against her most sensitive place. And then he undulated his hips, slightly and gently, just enough to make her tremble and forget all the times she had been angry with him. Time floated away on a heated tide of sensation . . . until at last the moment of joining became not only inevitable but imperative.

Tarwë heard him murmur her name beneath his breath as he drove into her again and again. She buried her face in his shoulder and held him tightly, her legs curled around him while she sought to memorize every detail of the moment with every sense she possessed. She rocked beneath him, her throat choked with emotion even while her body sought to attain the heights of physical rapture. _I love you, I love you, I love you . . . _the words swirled in her head with the pounding rhythm of his thrusts, so persistently that she feared she'd say them aloud.

And then, when it was over, she did say them, though why or how she found the courage she did not know. "I love you," she said softly, her lips near his ear.

For few moments he neither moved nor answered, and then he turned his head and kissed her on the mouth. "I know," he said, and kissed her again.

She pulled back enough to part their lips. "What of you? Do I mean any more to you than the others?" She held her breath, concealing her fear of rejection, her fear that the question would spoil things between them. Her fear that his answer would be no. Why she was asking this now, after all this time, she did not know. Perhaps witnessing Doria's happiness had affected her more than she realized.

Lurien lifted his head to look at her, his face so expressionless that she feared the worst. "I think," he said slowly, "you already know the answer to that." She waited, looking him straight in the eye, forcing him to give her a better response. "Of course I love you," he said at last. "I have loved you for years, since our first time together."

Unconvinced, she wove her fingers into his shining hair. "Do you mean it? Or is this no more than a tale to appease poor Tarwë's fragile feelings?"

He smiled, but she noticed that his jaw had clenched. "There is nothing poor about you, my love. I have rarely spoken aught but the truth to you, and about this I will not lie." He paused, his blue gaze roving her face, and then one corner of his mouth curved upward. "I have always intended you to be mine and one day I will claim you. We are destined for each other . . . as I am sure you know."

"No," she whispered, "I did not know, not for certain. I only had hope."

His smile faded to unaccustomed seriousness. "Of course we are meant for each other. That's why you care for me, Tarwë. It is why you let me into your bed like this. It is why we fit together so well." He kissed her again, a deep and hungry kiss. "Have I not told you to have patience? Our time has not yet come, love. It draws near, but I am not yet ready."

"When will you be ready?" she asked.

"As to that, I cannot say." He smiled again, his roguish mood returning. "But I am ready to play again, if you like."

Tarwë regarded him with a mixture of exasperation and tenderness. "You are so greedy, Lurien. What will you do if I deny you?"

"I will do my poor best to change your mind. And I have no doubt at all I will succeed." He planted a hot, open-mouthed kiss on her throat, then began to work his way downward . . .

High on a flet at the edge of Lothlórien, Haldir held Rúmil's letter in his hand. He perused it quickly, then gestured a dismissal to the elf who had delivered it. The elf bowed his head, touched his heart and withdrew, leaving Haldir alone to reread the note. He was unsurprised by Rúmil's information about Elanor's 'bullheaded stubbornness', as Rúmil phrased it. Unsurprised and exasperated and even just a little amused.

He was mildly surprised by this last emotion. _Elanor, Elanor, what are you thinking?_ He wanted to shake her and kiss her and . . . quickly he cut off this line of thought before it went off into familiar and frustrating channels.

He had not planned to attend the contest. In fact, he had not attended in years, having wearied of watching Healea trounce every other elleth who tried to topple her from her pedestal. Healea was skillful, and if skill alone were the measure of a good warden, he would have mourned her lack of interest in that office. But she had neither the temperament nor the interest in being a warden of Lórien. She was, however, an excellent archer and he admired that. Not that any of this signified because Elanor had entered in the novice category.

However, Haldir knew what would happen if Elanor was the only competitor in the novice class. And even if others _did_ enter as novices, they would still be ellith who had spent many years at their archery. Ellith much more competent than Elanor.

He folded the letter and tucked it away, his gaze returning to the distant horizon as he considered what action to take.

The morning of the archery contest dawned clear and pleasantly cool. Elanor had rested fitfully during the night, with dreams that bore no relevancy or comfort. She dressed nervously, wavering between her wish that Haldir would be there to offer guidance and utter thankfulness that he would not be there to see her fail. She kept imagining his disapproval, then reminded herself of his calmness, wisdom and patience whenever he instructed her in anything. Whatever he might think, he would not scold her or deride her for her choice. She must remember that.

With quiver and bow on her shoulder, Elanor approached the practice arena, her gaze touching on whatever plants and flowers she passed along the way. The sight of each tiny blossom peeking out from some unexpected crevice soothed her jangling nerves, however the moment she heard the low-pitched murmurs of the elves who gathered to watch the competition, nausea settled in the pit of her stomach. There were so many!

Taking a deep breath, she pushed open the gate, ignoring curious gazes as she headed over to the area where the contestants had gathered. Nearby, she could see Lord Celeborn garbed in the attire of an archer, but when she would have stepped past him, he held out a hand to stay her.

She bowed her head, her nerves jumping. "Lord Celeborn, good morning."

"Good morning, Elanor," he replied, his deep voice holding a gentle note. "A fine day for a contest, is it not?"

Elanor forced a nervous smile. "It is always a fine day in Lórien, my lord."

"Indeed." He blocked her view of the other ellith with his broad body and fixed his blue eyes on her. "There has been a change in plans, Elanor. You have a choice to make."

Tendrils of unease curled in Elanor's stomach. "A choice, my lord? Is there a problem?"

"Not exactly. It is only that we have no other novices this year other than yourself. This has seldom happened in the past, but a precedent has been established when it does. Your choice is to compete with the others or to withdraw. No one will think less of you if you decide to withdraw, but it is my hope that you will not."

Elanor had listened to these words with growing uneasiness. "But I cannot compete with experts archers, my lord."

"On the contrary, Elanor, you can indeed compete. No one would expect you to use the same targets as the others, but otherwise the rules would be the same. As you earn your shots, you will advance just as the others who have more experience. Their target distance will be much farther than yours."

Elanor didn't know what to think, but she wished someone had told her this sooner. Celeborn smiled reassuringly. "I realize this is a shock and I apologize. Several ellith signed up in the expert category this year for the first time and I did not realize it until this morning. But I have confidence in you. I have not seen your skill, but I have seen your will." Was there a note of amusement in his voice? "I will give you a few moments to decide."

Elanor nodded, and Lord Celeborn moved away while she looked at the targets being put into place. They seemed hopelessly far away. And hitting the target itself was not good enough; the arrow must strike within a white circle whose diameter could not be wider than the length of her hand!

What a fool she had been to think that she could do this. She dared not look around to see if Rúmil or Orophin had arrived. Their faces would certainly reflect their disapproval and they would without doubt advise her to withdraw. And of course that was what she should do. She did not even know why she hesitated.

"Your bow may be a training bow," drawled a low, feminine voice, "but it is still a bow of the Galadhrim. It can easily send an arrow flying much farther than that. And it can hit the target . . . if it is properly aimed."

Elanor turned to find Healea standing behind her, her huge bow clasped in one well-shaped hand. Her dark-green tunic beautifully set off her fair hair and flawless, radiant skin. She lifted one delicate brow at Elanor, her face slightly mocking.

"I cannot compete against you," Elanor said with quiet resignation. "To imagine I could would be absurd."

Healea gave her a superior smile. "Of course not. I have won the last seventy-five competitions and you are a beginner. But that is hardly the point. You would not be competing against me, only against yourself."

"What do you mean by that?" Elanor asked, feeling suspicious. Was Healea trying to be helpful or to cause trouble?

Healea looked at her own bow, her hand lovingly sliding over the smooth, highly polished wood. "Our struggle to succeed begins within ourselves," she said reflectively. "Our hardest battles are with our own fears . . . our own misgivings. Each of us must find strength in our hearts before we can find strength in our arms. You must believe in yourself, Elanor, before you can believe in others."

"That sounds like something Lurien would say," Elanor said after a pause.

Healea laughed. "Nay, it is Haldir I quote. Will you withdraw?"

Elanor's gaze slid over the assembled elves. She had signed up; they all knew this. Would they think less of her if she withdrew? Would Lord Celeborn? Most importantly, would Haldir?

A hand on her shoulder brought her attention back to Healea. "Compete for yourself, Elanor," she advised with a saucy smile. "I will win . . . but you can win as well." Healea then turned away, sauntering gracefully across the grass to join her friends, Arnis and Túre, who had been regarding the two of them with frank curiosity while they spoke.

Elanor gripped her bow with a sudden determination. Despite her manner, Healea had offered sound and wise advice. In fact, she had quoted Haldir's words, acting almost as his emissary. And now she knew what she must do.

The first round began with Healea. Elanor stood back, thinking idly that they might as well give the prize to the beautiful elf right now. Healea's first arrow shuddered into the target dead center, resulting in a ripple of admiring murmurs from the audience. Two others ellith followed her, then Arnis, then another, and then Túre. Each of these contestants earned the right to advance to the next round. And now another elleth took her place at the mark and lifted her bow.

"Contestant: Minuial. Ranking: second year expert," an elf called out.

In fact, the announcer was Cothion, the elf whom Healea had chosen as her mate. He had a voice as deep and resonant as Erestor's, which made him a fit candidate for this role. Until now, Elanor had only seen Cothion from a distance and had never heard him speak. He was handsome in his way, although in her opinion nowhere near as striking as either Lurien or Haldir.

Elanor watched Minuial adjust her stance and draw back the long bowstring to her cheek. Like the other contestants in the expert category, she was using a full-sized bow of the Galadhrim. Was it Elanor's imagination or did Minuial's hand tremble? A moment later the arrow streaked through the air to land, quivering, in the target. Minuial grimaced, for the arrow had struck the target's edge, missing the circle completely.

According to the rules, Minuial received a second chance. Elanor's own nervousness heightened as she watched Minuial draw back on her bowstring, her eye fixed on the distant target. Her stance was wrong, even Elanor could see that, and the arrow flew from the bow, landing yet again outside the circle.

"Minuial is disqualified," Cothion stated in stentorian accents. Looking disappointed, Minuial turned away, stalking back to stand with the other participants.

Elanor shuddered, willing the flutters of her anxiety to subside. Glancing around, she caught Doria's eye where she stood along the sidelines. Doria sent her an encouraging smile and a wave. Next to Doria stood Orophin, along with Rúmil, Tarwë, Nerwen, Gwirith and several others she considered friends. While several more ellith took their turns, the presence of Elanor's friends steadied her nerves. At the same time she prayed she would not make a fool of herself in front of them. Her turn would be coming soon and the crowd seemed so large. It almost seemed that everyone in the city had gathered here today. She had not realized that so many would come to watch.

Elanor grew tense again as another contestant walked up to the mark, knowing it would be her turn next. The elf shot, her arrow just barely edging inside the circle. Good enough to advance to the next round.

Then Elanor heard her name called and felt her stomach clutch. She was the last to go. Attention was now focused on her; she could feel it. Somehow it seemed as though the crowd had gotten quieter. All along the sidelines they stood, both familiar and unfamiliar faces, all looking at her. She was suddenly acutely conscious that her bow was only a training bow and so much smaller than the others.

Squaring her shoulders and raising her chin, she moved toward the appointed mark where each of the others had stood. First round, first shot was the hardest, she had been told. A different target was being carried into position just for her at what seemed to be the halfway point. When it was in place, Celeborn nodded to Cothion, who opened his mouth and intoned, "Contestant: Elanor. Ranking: first year novice."

Elanor stepped forward, her heart hammering in her chest. An image of Haldir fluttered through her mind, and she found herself wishing with all her soul that he was here with her. Shoving the thought aside, she drew a deep breath and adjusted her stance. Even at the halfway point, the target was farther away than she was used to. She gripped the bow's shaft, fingering the string for a moment, and oddly this was the instant that she caught sight of Lurien. He gave a slight, enigmatic smile, but she looked away quickly, not wanting to be distracted.

Concentrating hard, she pulled back the string and sighted in the target with her dominant eye. Her position felt right, so she gathered her courage and released the arrow, the taut string twanging with its release as the slim shaft hurtled through the air.

The arrow landed just outside the circle. The crowd groaned.

Elanor felt her arms begin to tremble. At least the arrow had landed on the target, which was more than she'd expected. She could do this! She adjusted her feet a minute amount, and withdrew the second arrow from her quiver. Second arrow, last chance to stay in the contest.

Nocking it, she drew back again, gripping the string exactly as Haldir has taught her. She closed her eyes and took deep breath, then reopened them and locked her gaze on the target, letting the string roll off her fingers.

The crowd's reaction told her she had made it and she sighed in relief. It was not dead centered, but at least the arrow had landed within the circle. Incredible! She moved aside, wishing she could relax, but she was actually shaking more now than when she had stood at the mark.

The second round began, again with Healea. A loud cheer rose as Healea easily made her perfect shot, and the order that followed progressed the same as before. Both of Healea's rather obnoxious friends made their shots, albeit not as centered as Healea's was. Both progressed to the next round as did the others.

Elanor waited as the line moved forward, fifteen total archers, minus one from previous round. Three to go before Elanor's turn.

"Contestant: Larieth. Ranking: ten year expert," Cothion called out.

A slim, fair elf stepped up to the mark. Looking confident, she nodded to the Lord and Lady, drew back on her bowstring, and rapidly fired her shot. The crowd gasped as the arrow went wide, completely missing the target, much to the obvious shock of the archer. Celeborn's eyebrows rose. It appeared to be an unusual occurrence, and Elanor saw the elleth run a hand through her hair, visibly struggling to recover her composure.

Larieth aimed again, taking a long moment to gaze at the target before she shot. The arrow whistled toward the target and landed outside the center circle. The crowd groaned. The elleth threw her bow on the ground and stomped off.

Elanor rested her forehead on her bow, taking deep, calming breaths. It would be her turn soon, and for some reason Larieth's poor performance had added to her own nervousness. The light touch of a hand on her shoulder brought her chin up, and she found Healea passing by. Their eyes met briefly, and Elanor gave her a nod and returned her attention to the current competitor, whom she would follow.

Elanor's turn came. In an almost dreamlike haze, she moved forward, listening to Cothion announce her name while someone moved her target into place. It stood further away than the last time, but much closer than the target used by the other contestants.  
Facing the target, she removed her arrow from her quiver and nocked it. For some reason her gaze strayed to Rúmil, who caught her look and nodded, but she could see the concern in his eyes. He understood how hard this target would be for her to hit. She returned her gaze to the target and began to draw back on the bowstring.  
And then something horrible happened.  
As she pulled back the string, her fingers were not properly set, and before she could correct the situation the string rolled off the tips of her fingers almost in slow motion, flinging the arrow off prematurely and at an improper angle. Even more horribly, she saw Cothion rock back on his heels, narrowly evading the wayward arrow that sped past his nose and into the crowd of elves behind him. Reactions were fast as elves ducked left and right, narrowly avoiding the deadly shaft that flew past them and bounced off a decorative stone wall at the edge of the field.  
Elanor stood paralyzed and mortified, and wished she were dead. 

FearingLord Celeborn's reaction, she risked a peek at him and to her chagrin saw a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. Even Galadriel wore a gentle, subdued smile, although her compassion for Elanor shown clearly in her brilliant gaze.

A dry feminine voice inserted itself into Elanor's ear. "I _would_ like to keep my husband," Healea murmured. "I have not seen him move so quickly in years. Calm down, Elanor. Try again."

Healea moved away, and Elanor swallowed guiltily as she observed Cothion brushing off his long robes. His wary gaze settled on her once more as he signaled for her to continue. How could they expect her to continue after what had just happened? Thoroughly flustered, Elanor glanced at Haldir's brothers, but they were no help. Orophin merely looked stern while Rúmil stood with folded arms, his face revealing nothing.

Why, oh why had she ever signed up for this competition? She was a dreadful archer and most of Lórien must be laughing at her even though they were too polite to show it. She saw Cothion signal again, but still she hesitated, feeling miserable, wanting desperately to run away and lacking the courage to do even that.

"Elanor, you have lost your concentration."

It was the voice she had least expected to hear. She spun around to find Haldir standing behind her, his muscled shoulders filling the expanse of her view. He still wore his cloak and quiver, and his sword was buckled at his hip. He had clearly just arrived from the fences, for he looked disheveled and in need of clean clothing. His expression was both stern and gentle.

Startled and shamed that he had witnessed her horrid shot, Elanor stammered, "W-why are you here? I did not expect you so soon."

Haldir glanced at Celeborn, then took hold of her elbow and drew her aside. "Rúmil sent me a letter. I am here because I thought you might need me. I regret I could not get here sooner."

Elanor looked into his grey eyes, so thankful to see him she wanted to throw herself into his arms. "I know I was wrong to enter the contest," she said in a pained undertone. "I know everyone thinks me a fool. Haldir, what should I do? Can I withdraw, do you think?"

Haldir lifted her chin with his hand, gazing down his nose at her with an authoritative air. "No one thinks you a fool, Elanor. They admire you for having the courage to compete at all. And you will use that courage to finish what you have begun."

"But I almost shot Cothion," she pointed out in a wretched voice. "I could have killed him."

"Cothion had sufficient time to move. Would you give up so easily, ward? I thought you stronger than that. I have taught you how to stand, how to aim, and how to release the string. You will remember my teachings and you will do it correctly. Go now, take your time, and concentrate."

Elanor could feel the eyes of the crowd on both her and Haldir. She could feel them waiting, wondering what she would do. "I do not think I can," she whispered frantically. "I have embarrassed both myself and you . . ."

"I am not embarrassed," Haldir interrupted. "Nor should you be." Elanor opened her mouth to disagree, and saw his frown. "Go now," he commanded her, "and finish what you started. Lord Celeborn is waiting." His voice was calm and inexorable, leaving her no choice. And she knew he was right. She _did_ have to finish what she started or she would never be able to hold her head up again.

With a nod, Elanor turned away from him and returned to her place at the mark. Oddly enough, her frenzied mood had left and she was calm now, calmer than she had been all day. She saw Cothion step back a step as she raised the bow, but she ignored him and pulled back on the string with every particle of her attention focused on the distant target.

The arrow flew with a loud twang but missed the target, this time landing in the protected area far behind it. Elanor's heart sank. For a moment she'd actually believed she could do it. She'd done everything right. Her stance had been right, her grip, her release. And yet she had failed.

"Elanor of Rivendell is disqualified," Cothion informed the crowd, rather more loudly than Elanor thought necessary. And why did he say 'of Rivendell'? Perhaps he hoped she would soon go back.

Trying to look dignified, she turned in the opposite direction from where Haldir stood and slipped to the back of the crowd. A lump settled in her throat. How disappointed he must be in her! What would he say now? He had come all this way to help her and she had botched her shot, her one chance to make him proud of her.

She got only a short distance from the field before Haldir caught hold of her arm, whirling her around to face him. "Why are you running away?" He stared down at her, his eyes dark as grey smoke, concealing whatever he might be thinking.

"You know why," she said tightly. "I tried to compete and I failed. I made a laughing-stock of myself, Haldir. Now I need time alone."

Flooded with anguish and self-pity, she tried to pull away from him, but his grip only tightened. With iron strength, he pulled her along the path until they reached a great tree with a bench beneath it, hidden by a large overhanging root. In a curt tone, he directed her to sit, then he stood over her, his arms folded over his chest, his piercing gaze fixed on her face.

"How did you fail?" he asked sternly. "Did you not do your best?"

She glared at him through a mist of tears. "Yes, I did, but my best is terrible. I embarrassed myself in front of everyone in your city. I had no idea so many would come to watch."

"Elanor, this was your first competition. Most elves do not enter such things until they've been training for years. You had only weeks to prepare."

Elanor bit her lip.

Haldir studied her. "Why did you enter the competition when both my brothers advised against it?"

"To protect you." She saw a dark eyebrow fly up. "You see, Lord Celeborn invited me," she went on in a rush. "And I did not know what to do. Lurien helped me to understand that my actions and character reflect on you." Stumblingly, she explained how torn she had been, wanting to make the right decision, not wanting to dishonor him or cause the Lord and Lady of Lórien to question his ability to be a proper guardian. "To add to that, I did not want you to think I was a coward. I . . . I wanted you to be proud of me," she finished in a low voice.

"Elanor," he said quietly, "I am very proud of you. Never doubt that again. You have dishonored neither yourself nor me. As for Lurien's advice," she saw his jaw harden, "he has muddled truth and lies and twisted them together to confuse you. I prefer that you have no more dealings with him. I will speak to him myself."

"I will not," she agreed, feeling chastened.

He exhaled a sigh and sat down beside her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, his warm, solid body pressed against hers. "Let me tell you a tale that seldom slips past my lips. It takes place at the time I first desired to be a warden. I was so convinced I would be chosen that I never doubted myself for an instant. I was young at the time. Too young and inexperienced."

Elanor gave him a skeptical look. "Are you going to tell me you were not selected? I thought you were chosen and Lurien was not." Without thinking, she reached for his hand, regarding him earnestly. How could anyone as strong and powerful and skilled as Lórien's March Warden ever have failed at anything?

"Ah, but that was my second attempt. You have not heard about my first, which neither Lurien nor my brothers witnessed. Lord Celeborn remembers it well, and he occasionally reminds me about it when he thinks I grow too arrogant." A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he gazed at their linked fingers. "For my first trial, I had practiced what I thought were exemplary and complex sword maneuvers that would defeat even the most skilled among our warriors. For my test, I knew I would face one of the strongest in our land." He glanced at her. "I stood in the center of that same field where you just stood, with many faces staring at me, and I was suddenly so nervous I could hardly hold my sword."

Elanor tried to imagine Haldir being nervous and found it difficult. "Oh dear," she said. "And what happened?"

"I tried to gather my confidence, and when my opponent came at me, I leaped forward with one of my complicated moves."

His pause told her it had not gone well. "What happened?" she asked again.

Haldir's lips twisted ruefully. "I fell flat on my face. I tripped over my own feet and gave myself a bloody nose."

Elanor gasped. "No! You did not!"

Haldir actually laughed. "I did."

"Haldir, you must have been mortified!"

"Indeed," he agreed dryly. "Even worse, it was none other than Celeborn I faced. He laughed so hard he almost joined me on the ground." Haldir's glinting eyes locked with hers. "But as embarrassed as I was, I did not give up. I rose to my feet and abandoned my complicated moves. I remembered my original training and I fought the best that I could. I lost, Elanor. Confidence and skill go hand in hand, and both are necessary to achieve results. I was not selected to be a warden that day, but I finished what I started. And in the face of humiliation, I earned respect. Just as you did today."

Elanor looked down at her fingers, still unsure of this statement.

"Elanor, that last shot you took . . . it was well aimed. The arrow missed the target by no more than a hairsbreadth, and believe me, I was not the only one to notice. You did well. Very well."

Her head came up. "Truly?"

"Truly. I was impressed." Before she could respond, he rose to his feet and took her with him. "And now," he added, "you are going to return to the field and watch the rest of the competition. You are going to congratulate the winner, whoever she is—"

"Healea," she said in a resigned tone.

"Perhaps," he acknowledged. "Never assume anything. Healea will be defeated one day and perhaps you will be the one to do it. In any case, you will congratulate the winner, and if Cothion speaks to you, you will hold your head high. Is that understood?"

"Yes, milord," she said, a bit cheekily.

"After that, we will go to our talan. I will bathe while you prepare food for us."

"Is that all?" she inquired. "Does my guardian have any other commands?"

He looked down at her, a gleam in his eye. "I might like a shoulder rub, but I would not call it a command."

"Perhaps you might like a kiss too," she murmured.

"Perhaps I might," he agreed with a smile.

Elanor concealed a smile of her own, for she had a secret she had told to no one . . . a secret she had just realized might prove useful.

As expected, Healea won the competition, but Elanor later realized she did not care. To have Haldir back on this special day, _her_ day, and to know that she retained his good opinion, that was all that mattered. While Haldir bathed, Elanor stayed in the kitchen, although she was very tempted to walk in on him as he had done to her all those weeks ago. She toyed with the idea, but decided she was not that bold. And besides, she had a better plan.

After their meal was over, she stood behind him, kneading his muscled shoulders and neck just as she had done on several other occasions. It had been weeks since he had openly removed his clothes in front of her, but today she had managed to convince him to remove his tunics so that she might better access his tired muscles. And it was quite true, it did make it easier to discern exactly what he needed and how to please him. It made it more pleasurable for her as well; beneath the warm, smooth skin, she could feel controlled power and seductive masculine strength, and from a purely feminine standpoint, it delighted her.

"Thank you," he said at last. "That is enough."

"You are quite welcome," she said softly. She picked up his black under-tunic, but instead of handing it back to him, she deliberately tossed it across the room. And then she walked around and sat down on his lap.

"Elanor, what are you doing?" he inquired, looking faintly amused.

She smiled and brushed back a lock of his hair. "I am sitting on you."

"So I see." His mouth quirked and his hands settled at her waist. "And what did you have in mind?"

"Oh, really, Haldir, do I have to explain?"

"Let me guess. You are wanting some favor. A new gown perhaps."

"Guess again." She traced a finger along the curve of his jaw.

"Ah, then you are wanting something more interesting." She saw his gaze shift from her eyes to her lips. "Elanor," he said, with a note of constraint, "I have tried my best so far, but you should understand that when it comes to this sort of thing, I have never been very good at half measures."

Her heart skipped a beat. "Then how about a full measure?" She looked into his eyes and saw his pupils dilate, making them look darker, more brooding and dangerous. She slid her hand up his arm and curled it around his neck. "I have kissed you many times now, Haldir. I know how that affects you. I know what I am doing."

"Ah, so now you think you are experienced because of a few kisses."

"No," she admitted, her fingers playing with a few silky strands of his hair. "I am not saying that. But you have touched me, Haldir, and I would like to touch you." She rubbed her thumb along the curve of his ear, and then over and around its delicate tip. She felt a tremor ripple through him like a warning wind before a storm.

"Be very careful," he warned. "I am no elfling to be toyed with."

"I am well aware of that," she murmured. "And I am not toying with you." She moved her free hand downward, settling it over his very prominent erection, and saw the quick flare of his nostrils, his only visible response. "You cannot deny that you want me," she added softly.

"I have never denied it." Still, he appeared to be at war with himself, a battle of emotions taking place on his normally impassive countenance. He covered her hand with his, and gently lifted it away, clasping it lightly with his strong fingers.

She leaned forward and brushed her lips against his. He did not respond, but she could feel the tension in the corded muscles of his neck. "We can stay right here on this chair, if you like," she whispered. "Nothing much can happen here."

"Untrue, Elanor. But, by the Valar, you are tempting me. Stand up for a moment."

Puzzled, she obeyed, and a moment later felt herself pulled down again upon his lap, only this time astride his legs so that she faced him. Suddenly breathless, she brought her knees up and settled them on the chair at either side of his rock-hard thighs.

"Now then," he said, his eyes meeting hers, "do you still believe nothing much can happen in a chair?"

Elanor nearly swooned as his hands clamped on her hips and dragged her forward, hard against him.

"Oh, I . . . I see," she gasped.

"Do you still want that kiss?" he said huskily.

"I want more than a kiss. I want to touch you."

"No, Elanor. I find this very pleasant. It is enough for me."

It was the type of reply she expected, but she had her answer ready. "Haldir, today is my begetting day." She gave him a tremulous smile.

He lifted a dark brow. "Is this true? You did not tell me this before."

"I never thought to mention it. It is no great thing, and I am not asking for new gowns or parties. All I ask is the chance to give you the same pleasure you gave to me." She wriggled against him, adjusting herself backward just enough for what she wished to do. Tentatively, she reached for the tie to his leggings and began to unlace it.

"Elanor." His gaze seemed oddly unfocused as he reached for her hands and stopped her, though she noticed that he held them tightly pressed against that part of him that longed for her touch. Clearly he was in a quandary. It was almost palpable, hanging between them like a lush, sensual fog of desire.

In fact, Haldir had never before been so conflicted in his life. Having Elanor on his lap, with her hand where it was, had ignited his senses and sent a river of fire coursing through his veins. His control hung by thread.

"Please," she added softly, her blue eyes fixed on his face. "You have said you go to no one else. You cannot continue to deny me . . . or yourself. I know you need this. I sense it." She increased the pressure, trying to wrap her fingers around that part of him that desperately ached for her touch.

He swallowed hard, scarcely able to think. "You humble me," he said unevenly. "I pride myself on my self-control and where is it now? Almost gone."

She leaned close to his ear. "I will not tell anyone," she whispered. "You may lose it completely if you like."

"I cannot, not yet. I wish I could." Yet his hand held hers firmly in place over his throbbing hardness, for he could not quite bear to put an end to the delicious, provocative pressure. "Touch me a little," he murmured finally. "Just for a moment. Perhaps . . ." He drew in a shaky breath and did not finish the sentence. Then, very slowly, he removed his hand from hers, allowing her free access.

He rested his hands on the arms of the chair and watched while, with gentle fingers, she loosened the tie that held him in. When his arousal sprang free of its restraint, he saw her glance at his face, then look down again and touch him with her fingers, exploring him with a rather wondering expression. Although she said nothing, he thought she was surprised to find there was already moisture there. He observed her from under half-lowered lids, fighting a powerful, primal urge to take her straight to the floor and ravish her. The mere idea made him lightheaded, relentlessly seizing his imagination and hammering at the tattered remnants of his willpower.

Swallowing hard, he shut his eyes and leaned his head against the back of his chair. She was growing braver, sliding the pads of her fingers over his sensitive flesh, stroking him gently, invoking pure fire into his seething veins, an exquisite agony that might very well burn him to ashes. He should not let her do this. He was strong. He should resist.

"A little harder," he rasped. "Just . . . for a moment."

To his joy, he felt her hand wrap around him and begin an up and down, bobbing movement. The rhythm wasn't perfect, but it was wonderful, enough to send a shudder of bliss throughout his entire body. Dimly, he heard himself moan, but it seemed like someone else's voice, as though he no longer existed. Thick pleasure rose within him, drumming at his senses . . . he could not resist this . . . he needed it . . .

"This pleases you? Shall I go faster?"

"Faster, yes," he gasped. "And harder. Just for a moment, and then . . ." He would stop her . . . he must stop her . . .

Elanor watched his quivering face, occasionally glancing down to take in that male part of him that caused heat to pool between her thighs just by looking at it. And then it happened. His body arched slightly as he let out a long shuddering moan that seemed both harsh and oddly vulnerable. An instant later his arms closed around her, and he dragged her against his chest, locking her against him as though he meant to keep her there forever. She could feel the rapid pounding of his heart, the ragged unevenness of his breathing.

"I am so weak," he murmured. "I meant to stop you before that happened."

She leaned up and kissed his cheek. "Haldir, why should I have stopped? I do not understand why you would have wished that. You felt pleasure, I know you did."

"I did. Oh, yes." He shook his head, the downward brush of his lashes hiding the expression in his eyes. "You amaze me yet again, Elanor. You and your magic hands."

She watched him relax, her heart filled with tenderness. "Would you like more wine?" She started to climb off his lap, but his hand clamped on her wrist, his eyes seeking hers.

Holding a question.

"Don't leave. I have a favor to return. Do you wish it?"

As difficult as it was, Elanor forced herself to shake her head. "Not today," she lied. "I enjoyed touching you very, very much, Haldir. But now it is your turn to learn the frustration of receiving without being allowed to give. Galadriel says it is not the action but the intention that defines honor. I think I am beginning to understand what she means."

And, with those words, she walked right out of the talan, leaving Haldir sitting alone in rather stunned silence.

tbc


	19. Chapter Nineteen

**Chapter Nineteen**

Elanor walked exultantly away from Haldir's talan, her heart leaping with joy. She had done it! She had touched Haldir in the way he needed to be touched, given him the pleasure she had so longed to give him. He had quivered and trembled because of _her_, because of what _she_ was doing to him. She had felt so powerful and feminine! A delicious tremor ran through her at the memory of his last, passionate cry and its rather messy aftermath. That part had surprised her just a bit, but it had also made the whole thing even more intimate and satisfying.

He had very nearly stopped her, but he had not, which meant that she had done it properly. Or at least well enough to achieve the desired result. She did not know how she had found the audacity to be so bold, but where Haldir was concerned she felt as though she could do almost anything, and it had all seemed so very natural and right.

Of course, leaving him like that had not been easy.

She paused and glanced back up the stairway, half expecting the talan door to fling open and Haldir to order her immediate return. She had not exactly planned to walk away from him like that, but it had seemed like the right thing to do. He really did need to understand the level of her own frustration. It was not right for him to have all the power . . . although to be truthful, she knew full well that she wielded quite a bit of power over him. She must, else he would never have lost control the way he had.

A momentary flicker of doubt assailed her. Or had it been only nature? Perhaps a portion of it, she acknowledged, but it was she who he wanted. He had told her so, and he would not lie about that. If anything, he was _too_ honorable! A tender smile curved her lips at the thought as she wandered along. The important thing was that he cared for her . . . and as for her feelings for him, they were so intense she almost felt as though she were going to burst.

Haldir sat stock-still after Elanor left the talan, awash with contradictory emotions. Foremost among these was shock, along with a judicious amount of chagrin tossed in for good measure. To have lost control, and then to be left like that . . . it was not only unsettling, it was a new experience, one he had never expected nor even dreamed could happen to him. He was also amused, in a self-deprecating way.

His lips quirked as he glanced down at himself, a flush of warmth sweeping through him at the memory of Elanor's touch. He had not expected her to be so bold, so giving, so . . . exciting. For a maiden untried, she had pleased him very well indeed, and he had responded to her like one bewitched, his body aquiver with need and lust and undeniable longing. Yes, he had been weak, but most surprisingly he did not regret it. He could not. It had been wonderful. But it had ended far too soon.

Exhaling a sigh, he levered himself to his feet and headed into the other room to wash and change. Although for the moment he was sated, he knew it would be short-lived and that the inferno inside him would return all too soon, raging to new heights.

He thought back to the moment when he had first seen her in that Rivendell courtyard, remembering how his male interest had quickened in a way that was not customary. Now that interest was multiplied ten-fold. Nay, a hundred-fold.

His hunter instinct had taken hold.

Yes, she had excited him, both with her hands and with her determination and spirit. Her very desire for him ignited his own, for above all he liked an enthusiastic partner. Unbidden, an image rose in his mind, an image of what it might be like to be with her, to have her under him, to be buried inside of her . . . and immediately his body began to throb again. Yes, he still wanted Elanor, and he was caught off-guard by the force and intensity of this wanting. Interwoven with his desire was his very deep caring for her, a caring greater than he had ever felt for any other maiden.

Regret rammed him—regret that he could not pursue the course of action he wished. He must wait, and he did not wish to wait. He wanted to pursue her, take her in his arms, kiss her and shelter and protect her from all harm or evil. He wanted to surrender his scruples and back her against the nearest tree and drown himself in her enticing feminine essence. But he could not.

He could not because . . . he must not. Honor forbade it and he must be strong. But had he already lost his honor? The thought troubled him deeply.

"Ah . . . Ellie?"

Elanor looked up to see Doria standing on a nearby flight of stairs, looking at her rather peculiarly. Without realizing it, she had directed her steps toward Doria's talan, although she had no intention of telling Doria what had just occurred.

Doria cleared her throat. "Ellie, could you join me in my talan for a moment?" Even her voice sounded odd.

"Certainly." Elanor hurried toward Doria, wondering what was wrong.

When she reached Doria's side, her friend caught hold of her arm and rapidly drew her up the stairs without a word. Inside the talan, Doria shut the door and flipped the privacy latch.

"What—?" Elanor began, only to stop when Doria pointed at the front of Elanor's gown.

Elanor glanced down in confusion, then felt a small jolt of shock as she realized what had drawn Doria's attention. When Haldir had drawn her against him, neither of them had been thinking about the consequences.

"Oh dear," she floundered weakly, "I . . . I wonder what that is?"

Doria's ready grin flashed. "Oh, Ellie, my dear friend, you are such a sweet innocent." She leaned closer and lowered her voice, as though she thought someone might hear. "Actually, the same thing happened to me just last week. Orophin got a little carried away. Well, we both did . . . and I cannot believe I told you that!" She grinned self-consciously, but her modest confession had the desired effect and they were both soon giggling.

Her embarrassment gone, Elanor sat quietly while Doria fetched a cloth and sponged off her gown. Doria then poured them each a glass of wine, and they went out onto the terrace where Elanor's gown could dry in the breeze.

"So," Doria said casually, as they seated themselves comfortably amid several potted plants, "may I assume that Haldir has finally softened up a bit toward you?"

Elanor opened her mouth and shut it again as an image flashed through her mind of Haldir . . . or rather parts of Haldir. "I suppose you could say that," she replied, her voice quivering ever so slightly.

Her eyes connected with Doria's, Doria made a small, choking sound, and in the next instant they both burst out laughing. For some inexplicable reason, their merriment escalated until tears rolled down their cheeks as they shared a joke that would only be amusing to females. By the time it was over, they were collapsed against each other, Doria suffering from hiccups and Elanor gasping for breath.

"Oh my," Elanor remarked at last, her voice still quivering, "I am not at all sure what to say now!" She pressed a hand to her bosom, trying to compose herself.

"Perhaps I should rephrase my question," Doria said merrily, "for I certainly meant no disrespect toward our esteemed March Warden. What I meant was that he must be letting his barriers down with you. And he came all the way from the border to see the archery competition! That was quite a surprise, was it not?"

"Yes, it was," Elanor admitted, recalling that marvelous moment when she had heard his deep, golden voice speak from behind her. "I did not expect him. He said he came because I might need him. And . . . I did." The admission was made softly, with more than a trace of wistfulness.

Doria gave her a considering look. "I was impressed by the way you recovered after the arrow mishap, Ellie. I must say I am honored to be your friend. And I want to tell you something else. I watched Haldir's face while he spoke to you. I saw great caring there, even though he appeared to speak with firmness."

"Yes, he spoke with caring. He has admitted that he cares for me and that he wants me." With these last words, her voice fell to a near whisper.

Doria was silent for a long moment, then her gaze slid sideways. "Yet you are here with me and not with him." The meaning behind her words was clear.

"No. The time is not yet right, he says." Elanor bowed her head, gazing pensively at the dampened area on her gown. "But I sense that it grows near."

"Ellie, forgive me for asking this, but was it your first time?"

Elanor lifted her head. "My first time?" She thought of what had happened with Haldir, and realized what her friend meant. "Oh," she added. "Yes, it was."

"I thought so." Doria's smile held kindness as well as a hint of humor. "I remember my first time. I remember how surprised I was. By everything. The size. The messiness of it all." Her smile grew teasing, yet sincere. "In any case, you have taken a first step today."

Elanor nodded, blushing slightly. "Yes, I managed to please him, though I did not exactly know what to do."

"Is there anything you would like to ask me?" Doria asked in a soft voice.

"No . . . well, yes. Actually, there is one thing." Concerned that Doria would be taken aback by her question, Elanor hesitated, but after all her friend _had_ offered her advice, so she drew a deep breath and plunged ahead, asking about that specific technique that Rúmil had mentioned. "How will I know when . . . or even if . . . ?" She could feel a hot blush staining her cheeks.

To her relief, Doria just gave one of her big, beautiful grins and said, "Oh, yes, they do like that, no doubt about it. But do not worry, Ellie. That sort of thing is for later, when you feel comfortable and ready. You will know 'when' and 'if' when the time arrives. He will let you know. Or else you will just _want_ to do it. You will enjoy it, I promise you, and so will he. But wait until you feel it is right. You will know."

Haldir left the talan, striding down the stairs to the lower paths of the city, his mind not on his surroundings but on Elanor. Where was she? And did she regret what had taken place? He doubted it; she had appeared to be quite satisfied with the results of their encounter. He also wondered if she had realized what would happen when he climaxed. Had he soiled her dress? He hoped not; he had not thought about it until this moment. He ought to have taken more care, held on to his control.

Nodding curtly to a pair of watchful Sentinels at the foot of the stairs, he headed in the direction of Galadriel's garden. He hoped Elanor would be there, but if not perhaps he would take a few moments for quiet reflection, for this day had taken its toll upon the equanimity of his mind.

Listening for voices, he moved silently through the maze of plants, but saw no sign of anyone other than himself. He paused before a bed of sweet peas, alyssum and his favorite elanor, inhaling their sweet perfume, then moved further along the path toward one of the leafy alcoves with its concealed bench. Before he could reach it, however, he sensed a movement behind him and out of habit, he turned quickly.

It was Galadriel. Beautiful, wise, compassionate and eternal, she stood like a tall, ethereal column, watching him with those sapphire eyes that always saw so much.

"My Lady," he said, bowing and touching his heart briefly. He usually reported to her upon his return, but today he had not and felt a flare of mortification at his lapse. Granted, she did not demand it, but he had always felt it was his duty. This time he had not even thought of it. What was wrong with him?

"Haldir." Galadriel's lips curved slightly, and she tilted her head as she studied him. "The day has been quite eventful for you and Elanor."

Haldir kept his face expressionless, though it was not without considerable effort. The Lady of Light saw far too much, and he prayed she did not see all that had transpired within the past hour. Of course she respected the privacy of others, but it was so fresh in his mind that it made him uneasy.

"She did well," the lady continued softly, her eyes searching his. He knew she was referring to this morning's archery competition, and yet he twitched inwardly.

"Yes, for a beginner she acquitted herself well," he acknowledged, and tried to think about the contest rather than their more recent activities. "I was proud of her and I have told her so."

"You handled the situation most suitably, Haldir."

Had he? Yes, he had. He had told her what she had to do, helped her to have the confidence to hold her head high and take that last shot. _No, he should have resisted her._ Yes, he had helped her. _No, he should have been stronger._ Yes, he had been strong for her when she needed him to be. _No, he was weak and he was ashamed of that weakness._

Ripped apart by the conflicting avenues in his mind, he met Galadriel's perspicacious gaze rather warily. Had she read him? He brushed the idea away, certain that he had guarded his thoughts. "I tried my best, my lady," he said tonelessly. At least that much was true, although his best had not been good enough.

Galadriel's face remained serene, yet he sensed a change, as though she prepared herself for something. "I would expect nothing less of you, my March Warden," she said. "Elanor is proving to be adaptable and honorable and she learns quickly. In these past months she has tested you in many ways, and you have responded honorably at all times. As you always do."

Galadriel waited patiently while Haldir moved a few steps away and swiped a hand along his jaw, struggling to discern where this conversation was headed. Better to sort out his thoughts before replying, for Galadriel always had a motive behind the simplest of words. She ruled his people with a benevolent hand and could be very gentle, but he had also seen her strength and steel. At this moment he felt he was on the receiving end of her advice, whether he willed it or not. What did she intend?

He glanced back at her, his face a careful blank. "I agree she has accepted Lord Elrond's punishment with grace and dignity. I am pleased with her in that regard."

Galadriel folded her hands in front of her. "Was it truly meant to be a punishment? Or perhaps Elrond's intention was to offer Elanor a path that was truly meant for her, one she would never willingly have stepped upon if she had had the choice. Do not forget he has the gift of foresight."

Haldir pondered this. "Lord Elrond is wise," he replied levelly. "I agree she would likely never have stepped upon a path that led her to Lothlórien were it not for his decree." He paused. "Whether that path was meant for her, I do not know."

"She has changed since she left her home. Even in the brief time she has been here, the petals of her true nature are starting to unfurl. I feel your interest in her, Haldir. Would she have interested you as she was before?"

The question drew a frown from him, but he felt bound to answer. "As she was? I thought her pretty and I wished to meet her, but had little opportunity . . . in truth, I do not know the answer to your question."

"Indeed you do not, for that is the path not taken. But I believe what you see now is the true Elanor. Whether you would ever have met that Elanor if she had not come to Lothlórien is uncertain. Your visits there are brief and give you little time to woo."

He glanced away, a slight crease on his brow. "She had no confidence in herself. Her family favored the younger sister to Elanor's detriment." He cut himself off again, feeling unsure. Galadriel knew all this. Why were they speaking of it?

"You are the guardian, both of the gentle flower and the thorns that even now prick at your soul. Duty is as one demands it to be. Honor is a trial of both heart and mind. Until now, you have let your mind rule. Perhaps it is time to allow your heart its liberty."

Haldir lifted his chin. "I am her guardian, my lady. For a year and a day I hold that office, and it is not even half over. I still have a duty to fulfill."

Galadriel turned to face him, her eyes glittering. "Perhaps the duty you refer to is at an end."

Haldir stiffened. "If you think I have failed . . ." Yes, of course he had failed and Galadriel knew. Was this what she was about to tell him?

But to his surprise she shook her head. "Nay, Haldir, you have not failed. On the contrary, your sense of duty is unrivaled and despite what you would think, your honor knows no flaw."

Haldir shifted his feet, but said nothing, waiting to hear what she would say next.

"In a few short months, you have shown Elanor the errors of her ways. She is blossoming beautifully, becoming exactly what Lord Elrond hoped she would become. All because of you. Because of her feelings for you . . . and yours for her. And because your actions and guidance reflect your intentions, which are of the noblest and highest."

Discomposed, Haldir sought something to say. "My role as her guardian has given me great pleasure," he said, pausing in horror as the unintended double meaning occurred to him. "She has much honor and courage," he added quickly. Did Galadriel look amused or was he imagining it?

"Indeed." Gesturing for him to accompany her, she led him along the main path toward to the farthest end of the garden. "Why do you find such conflict between your honor and what lies within your heart? Your duty was to teach Elanor, to help free her to be herself. You have done this, and you continue to do it with each day that passes. You have not shirked your duty, nor have you tainted your honor, for your intentions have always been noble."

Haldir was unconvinced, but he did not care to disagree with the Lady of Light so he said nothing. Clearly she had more to say.

"There are many ways to nurture a flower, Haldir. Each has its unique needs and wants. Some need more light, some need less. Others require a particular kind of soil. Some are delicate, requiring exceptional attention and love in order to flourish. A clever gardener listens to the plant."

Haldir remained silent, his gaze on her face.

"Let me put it another way," she went on in a reflective tone. "A lifeless branch has no sap in it. It bears no leaves and no fruit, and gives nothing back to the tree from whence it came, or indeed to anyone. It is brittle and spent, and can give only by dying further, burning to ashes in a fire that lasts no longer than a night. In contrast, a living branch sways with the wind. Leaves adorn it and it bears fruit. It gives and receives joy." She touched his hand. "A healthy branch will sway in the wind. More than that, it will hear the call of the wind and dance with joy."

Haldir looked away as a depressing thought brushed his mind. "You are saying I am too rigid in my views. I have nothing to offer her."

"No." They had reached the far end of the garden, near the stone steps that led down to where she kept her mirror. At the top of these steps, she halted and turned to him, her face serious yet kind. "But I know you hold Elanor at an arm's length against your inclination. Do you fear she will leave you with nothing but fondness for you in her heart? Do you think she will return to Rivendell to love another while you stand alone at Lórien's border to dream of her forever?"

Haldir could not answer, for in reality that possibility had occurred to him. He fully intended to be Elanor's lover at some point, but he was not at all sure that he should or could offer her more than that. She was so young, so inexperienced, and there were so many others she might fancy after him.

He felt Galadriel touch his shoulder. "Elrond makes plans to travel here to Lórien," she informed him. "Two of her friends will accompany him, and he will bring letters and news of her family. He will approve of the new Elanor. Every action you have taken on her behalf has been for her greatest benefit. And it shows."

Haldir clenched his teeth, willing his body to remain relaxed. "For what purpose does Lord Elrond come? Surely he does not mean to take Elanor away. It is too soon. It has not even been half a year."

"No, he only wishes to assure himself that she is well and to see how she is faring. And he wishes to discuss more of the usual matters—trading and various troubles of the sort with which you are familiar."

"And if he decides that Elanor should go with him when he leaves?" He knew this was a real and logical possibility. It had been nearly six months already. Perhaps Lord Elrond might decide this was sufficient to have taught Elanor her lesson.

"Then perhaps she will go," Galadriel answered simply. "That will be up to her." She regarded him with a faint smile. "If you wish her to stay, you must let her know your feelings in whatever way seems best. Bend with the wind, my friend. You are alive and so is she . . . and the sap runs strong in you both."

Galadriel disappeared into the most private area of her garden, the place where she kept her magical mirror, and Haldir turned away. Still reeling from being on the receiving end of one of her lessons, he headed back through the garden, weaving his way around the various tall shrubs and low beds of brilliant flora.

He was nonplussed that Galadriel had discerned the crux of his predicament, but with her distinctive grace she had aided him in a way that had not embarrassed him more than slightly. He was relieved it had been her and not her husband. Celeborn would have been more frank, and probably laughed at him. It was disconcerting to know it had been that obvious; then again, the Lady possessed powers of discernment that others did not.

He paused near one of the shaded arbors, torn between wanting to seek out Elanor and wanting to seek solitude. He chose solitude, for he wished to reflect upon his conversation with the Lady. He wished to absorb and analyze it, so that he might be wholly certain he understood what she was saying and did not miss any hidden implications. Therefore, he pushed aside a veil of leaves and settled himself onto a comfortable carven bench, its latticework back replicating the intricacy of the surrounding vines. To observe unseen was a familiar arrangement and one that he preferred. He would rest and think, and come to terms with the way his life seemed to be headed.

After leaving Doria, Elanor returned to Haldir's talan, but to her disappointment, he was no longer there. His weapons were in the corner, which told her that he had not turned around and headed straight back to the border. He would not do so without saying goodbye, she did not think . . . unless he was angry with her for walking away from him. Of course he would not be angry. Was he? She hoped not, but he really was very used to having his own way and being in command of all situations. He might indeed take exception to such treatment.

She could feel herself growing anxious at the idea that she might have incurred Haldir's displeasure, but then she reminded herself of her motives for doing what she had done. It was important to her that she not allow herself to be under his thumb. Haldir's character tended to be so dominating that she instinctively knew she would have to assert herself in order to avoid becoming a mat beneath his feet. She had allowed Lana to treat her like that and she had learned her lesson. Never again.

In any case, she was likely worrying over nothing, for Haldir was far too wise and sophisticated to be angry for such a reason. She had faith in him, in his judgment and in his decisions and opinions. It was she, and not he, who needed to be less emotional. Perhaps today she'd opened a door he would find he could not close; she could only hope that they had finally begun to tread the path to what both of them desired. She hoped it was so, but if not she would have to accept it.

Having reasoned this through, Elanor decided she would go and work in Galadriel's garden. It had been three nights since she had rested well, and just now she was feeling a bit tired. Time among the flowers would refresh and strengthen her. And if Haldir wanted to find her, he would do so. He ought to be able to guess where she was.

She saw no sign of anyone when she arrived in the garden, although often the various elves of Lórien would stroll there, either singly or in couples. She pushed open the gate, breathing deep the moist air and heady aroma of a multitude of flowers. A brilliant butterfly flitted before her, escorting her deeper into the garden as it fluttered from bloom to bloom, its scarlet wings glittering in the hazy afternoon sunshine. She retrieved the gardening tools from the small shed where they were kept and headed to one of the centrally located beds filled with daisies and other wildflowers brought in from afar. Filled with joy, they had seeded themselves haphazardly, and Elanor meant to rearrange the tiny sprouts now that they were large enough to transfer safely.

Before she had scarcely begun to work, a familiar voice interrupted her. "I suppose you think everyone admired you this morning."

Startled, Elanor glanced up and saw Healea's friend, Túre, standing nearby, staring down at her haughtily. A small sneer marred the corners of Túre's pretty mouth. Of all the Lórien ellith Elanor had met, she was probably the one who had always been the least friendly.

"No," Elanor answered, after a pause, "I do not think that."

"I cannot even imagine why you entered the competition at all. You never had the slightest chance to do anything other than make a fool of yourself. Did you imagine otherwise?"

Elanor could feel her temper getting ready to flare, but she held on to it. Several times in recent months Haldir had reminded her of the power of the spoken word, and how it should be used wisely and with care. Therefore she said, as calmly as possible, "Yes, I knew I had no chance. But I am not sorry I entered."

Túre moved closer, the hem of her pale blue gown rustling on the grass. "I suppose you did it to impress Haldir. He's quite a catch, after all. Perhaps someone should tell you that Haldir has been resisting all of us for many more years than you have been alive. Your tricks will not win his interest." Elanor could feel herself tensing as Túre went on, "You are not pretty enough or old enough or clever enough to interest an elf like him. He will forget you the moment you go back to Rivendell."

Confounded by such spite, Elanor did not know what to say, but a sick feeling churned in the pit of her stomach. "Why do you dislike me?" she managed to say, her voice quiet. "I have done nothing to you."

Túre made a derisive sound. "You disrupt my city simply by being here. You do not belong here in Lórien. You are not a grey elf."

"Neither is Galadriel," Elanor pointed out evenly.

Túre's sneer grew more pronounced. "You dare to compare yourself to the Lady of Light?"

"Túre!" Healea's sharp voice cut in. "That is quite enough."

Elanor had not heard Healea's approach, and neither had Túre, it seemed, for her face grew almost comical with mortification. Elanor rose to her feet, studying the other two ellith while she wondered what would happen next. Healea's beautiful face was impassive, but her eyes held a glimmer of displeasure.

"I am sorry, Healea," Túre began, looking miserable.

"I will speak with you later," Healea said, calmly and firmly. Túre pressed her lips together, then gave a short nod and walked away without a backward glance. Elanor looked at Healea, who gazed back at her imperturbably. "Sit down, Elanor," she said quietly, "and I will join you, if I may."

"Certainly," Elanor said, rather numbly. She was uncertain what to expect from Healea, but she lowered herself to the grass and awaited whatever Healea meant to say.

Healea arranged her skirt before speaking. "You must forgive Túre," she said abruptly. "She is jealous of you."

"Jealous of me?" Elanor repeated, gaping at her. "Why?"

Healea inclined her head, her eyes on Elanor's face. "Túre is unhappy. Once, long ago, she loved an elf named Iridor. He was killed by Orcs. Years later she fell in love again, but her feelings were not returned. Since then she has yearned for love and failed to find it. She has attempted to attract several males, including Haldir and Rúmil, and none of them has shown interest in her. You, Elanor, have attracted many admiring glances since you arrived, and you have done it effortlessly. This morning, when Haldir made his unexpected appearance at the competition, it was obvious he came for you and you alone." She paused, idly smoothing her fingers over the grass. "For Haldir to leave the Fences for such a reason . . . it is unusual. And meaningful. And Túre knows it."

Bemused, Elanor shook her head. "I am sorry for her," she said sincerely.

"She does not want your pity," Healea said coolly. "I tell you this only so you can forgive her for what she said to you. I do not pity her. I have faith that she will find someone someday. Right now she believes it is her destiny always to be alone. I believe in destiny, but I also believe in choice. Destiny and choice interact with each other, Elanor. As soon as a new choice is made, the future shifts. Once Túre changes her beliefs, her life will change for the better. I have told her this and someday she will listen."

Elanor watched the tiny fluctuations around Healea's lovely mouth, but said nothing. Healea was proving to be more of an enigma than ever.

"Túre is my friend," Healea added. "She was not always so bitter or so cruel. I will stand by her." She gave a sudden and rather lazy smile. "But I came here to talk to you of other matters. I wondered how you were faring after this morning's excitement. I also wished to tell you that my husband has forgiven you for nearly removing the tip of his ear."

Feeling sheepish, Elanor smiled a bit guiltily. "I am relieved to hear that. And I am fine, Healea. It is kind of you to inquire."

"You are surprised. You did not think I could be kind." Healea laughed at Elanor's expression. "You are right. Sometimes I am not kind. Cothion often tells me I am far too critical and arrogant. But I am seldom cruel."

"You are very frank," Elanor admitted, "but that does not make you unkind. I admit I did not think you liked me."

"I already told you what I thought of you."

"You told me what you thought I was _not_," Elanor corrected. "You said I was not the brazen hussy you thought I would be."

Healea laughed again. "At least you remember my words. That is something."

Elanor studied her for a moment, and then glanced over at a nearby daisy, the mother of the little seedlings whose cheerful heads were waving gently in the soft breeze. Without thinking, she stretched out a hand to caress its bright petals and murmured softly, complimenting it on its beauty.

"Why do you talk to them?" Healea asked curiously. "They're only plants."

Elanor returned her hand to her lap. "They have intelligence in them, just as all life does."

"I suppose so," Healea conceded. "Even mortals have a modicum of intelligence. Some of them, at least." She reached out and touched the daisy, her fingers lingering for a moment, gentle, yet not connecting with them the way Elanor did. "I wanted to speak with you about something else." She glanced over at Elanor, her voice casual. "I wanted to offer my assistance."

Elanor raised an eyebrow. "Assistance? With gardening?"

Healea gave a small snort. "I think you would not allow me that." Her lips curved into the quirky little smile that Elanor was beginning to recognize. "I am offering my assistance with your archery. You have too many tutors, but I think I can replace Lurien and both Haldir's brothers. I am as good an archer as any of them." Her clear blue eyes scanned Elanor's face. "You have courage, Elanor, and I like that. I will not waste my talents on a coward."

Elanor did not know quite what to say. "Haldir taught you," she said finally.

"Yes, I would only learn from the best. Of course, he was my lover at the time, and I made him teach me. But I lived up to his expectations of me. I practiced the way you practice, with the whole of my concentration and discipline." She bent down to smell the daisy. "Of course Haldir will be your finest teacher. Yet he is often gone, and when he is here, I think perhaps he is a bit of a distraction, yes?"

Elanor brushed a long strand of hair behind her ear and tried to look nonchalant. "Yes, he is an excellent teacher."

Healea lifted an eyebrow. "Your blush suggests he teaches something other than archery."

"No, no," Elanor said quickly, then blushed more hotly. "I really know not what you mean."

"Do you not, Elanor?" Healea watched her face. "Well, it is no concern of mine." Her expression grew blank, her thoughts hidden. Then she sighed. "You know I truly loved Haldir."

Elanor lifted her chin. "Did you?"

Healea's expression seemed softer. "I did. But it was not the kind of love that he needed. Nor what I needed." She seemed to drift away for a moment, and then

her gaze narrowed. "I would have liked to have kept him for my lover. But it was not to be. Haldir does not share. Once he decides you are his, there can be no others."

Elanor felt a twinge flare in her heart, followed by a shiver. Of what? Anticipation? "Why are you telling me this?"

"Ah, now, that is the question. And I do not know the answer. When I am near you, the words seem to leap from my lips. I have told you more than I have told my own husband. Perhaps you have bewitched me in some way." She laughed softly. "I care not, for it feels good to say the words aloud." Before Elanor could speak, Healea rose to her feet, as lithe and quick as a cat. "My offer stands," she said. "I will help you with your archery if you wish it. I think you and I could become friends. I would like it to be so. Think upon it." With a small nod, she turned away, drifting across the garden with as much grace as Galadriel.

Elanor looked back at the daisy that Healea had touched, watching it unfurl itself ever so slightly as if pleased by all the recent attention. And on impulse, she stretched out on the grass and closed her eyes. Right now she only wanted to relax and dream.

Rúmil peeked around the tree, observing Nerwen and Gwirith sitting together in the small lily garden. They were talking quietly, each absorbed in a bit of embroidery. He knew they both enjoyed such finely detailed work, and frequently kept each other company.

He sighed. This was the closest he'd come to getting her alone. Beneath his arm, he carried his gift for her, still hidden within the cloth pouch. He did not want to give it to her unless she was alone. But how to manage it?

He searched his mind for some plausible way to take charge of this situation. Wooing was so different from flirting. Flirting was easy and natural; he had been doing it all his life. If he wanted to flirt—which he did not—he would simply walk over and plant himself between the two of them and give them each an equal share of his attention. He would compliment them and tease them and slip his arms around their waists. And then he would kiss them and make them giggle, and do his best to get one or both of them into his bed.

Wooing was much harder. It was serious, and it was not something he had ever anticipated he would do. He had not prepared for it or practiced it, or paid much heed when others did it. And now he was paying the price.

At this moment he actually felt nervous, and that was absurd. He knew both of these ellith. One of them he liked, and the other . . . the other he wished to take to bed every night for the rest of his immortal life. He loved her. And just now he really, really wished he did not.

Irritation flooded him. He had not asked to feel like this! He felt peeved that he had changed when he had never expected to change. Everything had gone along extremely well all these centuries . . . until Ainon had died and she had sat with him and held his hand. And it had finally dawned on him that he was in love . . . and had been in love for quite some time without realizing it. How was that even possible? It was absurd!

Steeling himself to do what he had come here to do, he squared his shoulders and stepped out from behind the tree, heading along the stone-lined path toward the bench where the two pretty ellith sat. Both of them glanced up at the same instant.

"Rúmil," Gwirith said with a smile, "what a nice surprise."

Nerwen also smiled, but he did not think she looked as friendly.

He bowed before them, and then hovered indecisively, waiting for them to invite him to sit down. Gwirith complied, patting the bench beside her invitingly, but instead he lowered himself to the grass in front of them and stretched out his legs. From this vantage, he could see both their faces.

"What do you have there, Rúmil?" Nerwen inquired. Her clear blue eyes had settled on the pouch.

"Yes, what is that?" Gwirith asked, her rosy lips curved into a lovely smile.

Rúmil shoved the pouch behind him and wished he'd hidden it in the tree. "Nothing, really."

Gwirith's eyes sparkled. "Ah, a secret. Nerwen, Rúmil has a secret. Shall we discover it?"

Nerwen laughed. "I think we should allow him his secrets. He has so few."

Rúmil studied them both, the wheels in his mind spinning as he considered and rejected a number of responses. "Everyone has secrets," he said finally, "including each of you."

"Oh, Rúmil, you do not know our secrets," Gwirith scoffed. "Unless you have been sneaking around the bathhouse again."

Rúmil did not even blink. "I would never do such a thing. I know your secret, Gwirith, and it has to do with Beredain."

Gwirith's mouth fell open.

"And," Rúmil added smoothly, "he has just returned from the fences. I saw him not an hour ago. He asked for you."

She stared at him. "He did? What did he say?"

Rúmil shrugged. "He only asked if I had seen you. I said no."

"Well, that is of no interest to me at all," she declared, "and you do not know my secret. You are making it all up."

Nerwen wore an odd little smile. "And what is my secret, Rúmil?"

"That I do not know," he admitted with a charming smile. "But I know you must have one."

Gwirith tucked her needle into her embroidery and rose to her feet. "Excuse me, Nerwen, but I have just recollected something I need to do. I shall see you later."

Rúmil watched her hurry away, conscious of a small stab of guilt.

"Did my brother really ask for Gwirith?" Nerwen sounded skeptical and rather accusing.

Rúmil could not lie to her. "No," he said sheepishly. "But it is true he likes her. I thought she might leave if I told her that. I wanted to talk to you alone."

To his delight, Nerwen folded her arms in just the way he liked, so that it pushed up her rounded breasts that tiny bit, so that more of their sweet upper swell was displayed. However, he did not dare to let his eyes linger there too long.

"That was very wrong of you, Rúmil," she said severely. "You should not lie, especially about something like that."

He moved up to sit beside her on the bench. "You are right, I should not. I apologize." He set the pouch upon his lap and gave her his most winning smile.

"You are incorrigible. And what is this nonsense about secrets?"

"You have a secret," he said simply. "And so do I.'

"What is your secret?" She met his gaze, her lovely face still looking disapproving.

"If I told you, then it would not be a secret. Try to guess what is in this pouch."

"I have no idea what it is."

"Do you want me to tell you?" he said beguilingly. He wished she would smile again.

"I do not care for these games, Rúmil. If you have something to say, then please say it."

He abandoned his playfulness. "Nerwen," he said with a sigh, "do not be angry with me. What I have in this pouch is for you. A gift." He held his breath, waiting for her reaction.

Her frown faded to a look of surprise. "A gift," she said. "But why? My begetting day was last month."

"It was?" he said without thinking. "Ah, yes, of course it was. I knew that. I must have been at the fences, or I would have given it to you then." He hoped she would not remember that he had indeed been here, keeping guard over Elanor.

She smiled slightly, in a way that told him she was not fooled. "Rúmil, you have never once remembered my begetting day. What is different about this year?"

"Well now," he said a bit too heartily. "I'm very glad you asked me that question. What is different?" He struggled to say the words, but no words came to him. All the fine sentiments concealed in his heart had no name, no description, no well-defined shape or form. Only one thing occurred to him to do and that was to take action. "_This_ is what is different," he said firmly. Deftly and quickly, he slipped his arm around her waist and covered her mouth with his.

Nerwen did not react, or struggle, or seem at all enthused. It was off-putting, to say the least. He desperately wanted to deepen the kiss, but instead he pulled back and looked at her. "It would be more enjoyable if we do it together," he pointed out with attempted humor.

"Will you never change?" she said, almost fiercely. "Must you always be like this?"

He stiffened. "Like what? Affectionate and friendly?"

"Undisciplined and fickle."

"Fickle!" he exclaimed. "I am not fickle!"

"You are capricious and childish and—"

"Childish!" he echoed, starting to grow angry.

"Yes, childish. And unreliable and wild."

"Unreliable!" He was now thoroughly insulted.

"And young," she lashed back. "Young, despite your many years. And over-ardent. You think of nothing but sex and seduction. You have long made that very clear."

"That is not true at all! I think about many other things!" He leaped to his feet, his temper seething. Why had he chosen to love the most fault-finding, stubborn, unappreciative elleth in all of Lórien? She did not deserve him!

"You are critical and ungrateful," he told her icily. "I brought you a gift, and you have shown no interest in it at all." He shoved the pouch into her hands. "Here, you may have it. I made it myself. I did not make it specifically for you, which I am sure will be a great crime in your eyes. But I wanted you to have it. It is yours. Do with it what you will. You may smash it to pieces if you like."

And with those irate words, he spun around and stalked away, leaving Nerwen staring after him in growing dismay.

After a long, stricken moment, she opened the pouch and withdrew the graceful and detailed carving of the two deer. "Oh, Rúmil," she whispered.

Elanor dreamed that Haldir's lips were pressed to hers. It was a lovely dream and she did not want to wake, but then something began to tickle the tip of her nose. Pulling herself out of reverie, she found Haldir sitting next to her on the ground, holding a long strand of grass between his fingers. Before she could speak, he reached out and trailed it down the length of her nose and across her lips to her chin.

She smiled at him. "Did you just kiss me or did I dream it?"

"Kiss you?" he repeated, his tone innocent. He tossed aside the strand of grass and leaned over her, his eyes meeting hers. "Would I do that?"

Her lips still curving, she touched his beautiful hair, absently fingering it while she considered the question. "You do not kiss me in places where someone might see. I suppose I must have dreamed it."

"Indeed, you must have," he agreed, then bent down and kissed her, full on the mouth, not once but three times. He then withdrew, shifting his weight slightly, propping his arm on one upraised knee. "You are the fairest flower in the garden," he added. "How could I not kiss you?"

She looked up at him, her lips tingling from the warm, seductive contact. "Haldir, are you flirting with me?"

"I must not be very good at it if you have to ask," he said dryly.

With a little laugh, she sat up and leaned back on her hands so that she faced him. He looked very handsome, as he always did. He wore a tunic of dark green, like the long still shadows of the forest, and a clean pair of black leggings, and his hair gleamed in the sunshine, creating that halo effect that always made her heart do silly flips. Best of all, he appeared relaxed and content, and did not appear to have put up any new barriers since this morning.

"So you are not angry with me?" she asked, a little hesitantly.

He lifted an eyebrow. "Why would I be angry?"

"Because I walked out on you." She watched his face carefully, searching for signs of dissatisfaction or displeasure, but all she saw was gentle amusement and . . . something else. Something male and potent that called to her femininity and caused a great tremor of awareness to race over her flesh.

"Not at all," he said in a mild voice. "I was surprised, I admit. But not angry." He did not elaborate further, and she decided to let the matter go.

"Where have you been?" she said instead.

Rather than answering, Haldir leaned over and kissed her again, a lingering, velvety caress of the lips that sent sweet shivers of pleasure coursing through her. During the process, he moved closer, deliberately and fluidly, so that his thigh now pressed against hers, whereas before there had been a little space between them. If it had been anyone but Haldir, she would have thought he intended seduction.

"Elanor," he whispered tenderly, "you have a smudge of dirt on your cheek."

She let out a startled laugh. "What an unromantic thing to say."

"Ah, but you have no idea what thoughts it puts into my head." His mouth curved faintly as their gazes locked.

"What thoughts are these?" she inquired, her heart starting to pound. She loved seeing Haldir like this, so open and unrestrained and sensual. This was his private side, the side she knew he seldom allowed others to see.

He leaned closer to her ear, his warm breath fanning her cheek. "It makes me want to bathe you," he said softly. "With my own hands."

"Oh my." Elanor could feel herself blushing as the erotic image caught hold in her mind. Between her thighs, she felt a quick flood of heat. "So what have you been doing since I saw you last?" she asked, to cover her confusion and utter delight.

He smiled, and she somehow knew that her blushing response had amused and pleased him. "Thinking," he said. He touched her hand where it lay near his in the grass, rubbing his large thumb against the fine bones of her wrist. "Thinking about what to give you for your begetting day."

"You do not have to give me anything," she protested, then added playfully, "Anything _else_, I mean."

Again, he smiled. "On the contrary, I do, Elanor. And I have thought of something. It is not exactly something I can give to you, but rather something I would show you. Something you will appreciate even more than most."

"In that case, I am eager to see it. But what is it?"

"A special place. We must leave the city to reach it. It is some distance away, but we can go there and return by nightfall. The question is, do you feel able to walk that far?"

"Of course I can walk that far. As long as I do not have to ride a horse!" she added with strong feeling.

"Ah, but then I could have the pleasure of healing you all over again."

"I was hoping you had forgotten about that," she said wryly.

"Elanor, there is not the slightest chance of my ever forgetting the sight of your extremely delectable backside. I find the memory most . . . uplifting." Haldir's eyes gleamed with wicked humor.

She tilted her head to the side and looked at him through her eyelashes. "You know, I did not fully realize until this moment what a truly naughty elf you are."

He laughed. "You have much to learn about me, sweetling. I can be very naughty, to use your word. I have much to teach you beyond archery."

Excitement uncoiled within her, strumming hard at her nerve endings. "Haldir, you seem changed since this morning. Has something . . . happened?"

"You might say that," he said enigmatically. "And, no, to answer your next question, I have not been drinking."

"I was not going to say that!" she said with a little laugh.

"Yes, you were. I could see it in your face. Did you think I was drowning my sorrows in Miruvor while you sat here with your daisies?"

She shook her head, still giggling, then spontaneously leaned over and hugged him. "Oh, Haldir, I am ready to go with you. Whatever it is you wish to show me, wherever you wish to take me . . . it does not matter as long as we can be together."

He slipped an arm around her waist and held her close, his eyes now gentle and contemplative as he gazed into hers. "I feel the same, Elanor," he said quietly.

And this became the moment Elanor would always remember, the one in which she finally admitted to herself that she loved Haldir with every fiber of her being. She loved him as Doria loved Orophin. She was in love with him.

Unexpectedly, without warning, Túre's malicious words whispered like an ill wind through Elanor's head, but she pushed them uneasily away. Instead, she closed her eyes and rested her head on his shoulder, savoring the romantic and magical moment for as long as it lasted.

tbc


	20. Chapter Twenty

**Chapter Twenty**

Elanor's shoes being adequate for a walk in the woods, she had only to stow away the gardening tools to be ready to accompany Haldir. They made their way toward the city gates, but were soon stopped by several elves who wished to congratulate her on her showing in the competition. Surprised, Elanor thanked each of them politely, very conscious that Haldir was watching and listening.

"You see?" he said as they walked across the open expanse directly outside the city gates. "You did not embarrass yourself this morning. It is as I said, Elanor. You did well."

"For a beginner," she conceded. Still, a warm glow enveloped her, enough to drive away the residual sting left by Túre's words.

"For a beginner," he agreed, giving her with one of his unreadable looks.

Soon they were once again surrounded by the giant mellyrns, their long shadows nearly as impressive as the trees themselves. Haldir did not hold her hand, but the soft touch of his fingers guided her along a path she could not see to a place she did not know. A stillness enveloped them, the kind of stillness that was rich with sound. Lush and melodic, it contained the very heart of the forest—the flutter of wings, the rustle of leaves, the muted scurry of insects and small woodland creatures making their way through the underbrush. As if to punctuate this, a gray rabbit bounded across their path, pausing only to twitch its nose and give them a quick, curious look before it darted away.

Elanor sighed, wishing she had the energy to scamper like that. Her short rest had renewed her somewhat, but she was not yet herself.

Of course Haldir noticed right away. "You seem tired," he remarked. "Did you not rest well last night?"

"I was too nervous to rest. I spent the last few nights worrying about the competition, wishing I had not entered. And wishing I had told you about it."

He glanced at her. "Worry achieves nothing. It only steals from your ability to concentrate."

"I know." She smiled ruefully. "But still I worried."

They were well out of sight of all curious eyes, so Elanor was not completely surprised when Haldir slipped his arm around her waist and drew her close.

"Time for the first kiss," he said. "Haldir's cure for fatigue."

"The first? Oh, I like the sound of that." Elanor raised her lips to make it easy for him, but only her forehead received the brush of his lips. "Haldir," she said with a sigh, "are you teasing me again?"

"Perhaps." His arm remained around her waist, and his mouth curled a little at the corners as he gazed down at her. "Do you like it?"

"That depends on what you do." She gave him a sassy smile. "I may decide to tease you right back, you know."

"That might have unforeseen consequences, Elanor."

"Is that a warning?" She kept her voice light and tried not to sound too hopeful. She dared not think it might mean what it sounded like; he had made it clear that the time for such things had not arrived.

Looking amused, his fingers lightly caressed her hip, sending tingles racing over her flesh. "Perhaps it is." He released her, and they continued along the path in companionable silence that for Elanor held more than its usual trace of anticipation.

With each step they took, she grew more conscious of Haldir, of his strength and solidity and almost formidable masculinity. Something between them had changed since this morning, but she had no inkling what it was or what had caused it. She could feel it, this change, but could not explain it. For some odd reason, her thoughts flew back to those moments in Rivendell when they had been alone in her bedchamber. She had been so afraid of him then.

How differently she now saw him, and yet there were times when she still found him intimidating. His aura of power and authority was almost physical, like an invisible mantle radiating capability and confidence. It was also intoxicatingly erotic, and the more she tried to ignore it, the more that awareness of him wrapped around her senses. Her gaze slid sideways. The long sleeves of his tunic could not conceal the hardened muscle beneath. She knew that with two hands she could not encircle his upper arm, and the knowledge did something to her, made her shiver with longing to do so much more than that.

The second kiss came without warning. She had paused to examine a dainty blue flower nestled into the crevice of a fallen log, and when she straightened he was suddenly behind her. His arms locked around her waist while his mouth found her ear and trailed along its rim. "Elanor," he murmured, holding her securely against him. "You smell as sweet as your namesake."

In answer, she was about to say something flirtatious when she abruptly recalled something she had been meaning to ask him. She tilted her head back and smiled. "Haldir, you know what I would like to do?"

"Yes," he said, a laugh in his eye.

She could not help but laugh. "Oh, you are naughty! And you are also mistaken. I was not thinking about _that_."

His smile lingered, and seemed just a little smug. "No? I am not sure I believe you, Elanor."

"You are certainly very wicked today, my dear guardian."

He rubbed the tip of his nose along her hairline. "I think you like it, my dear ward."

She gave a little gasp when he flicked the ultra-sensitive tip of her ear with his tongue, and found herself praying he would move his hands upwards . . . but to her frustration he did not. Instead, he spanned his fingers across her ribcage, so tantalizingly close to her breasts that her breath hitched in her throat. "Haldir, what _are_ you doing?" she said in a faint voice.

"I am gardening, Elanor. Tending to the needs of my favorite flower." His velvet-smooth voice caressed her cheek, causing another tremble to sweep through her. He was looking down over her shoulder, so surely he could see how her body had responded . . . and realize where she wanted to be touched.

"Please . . ." she said, her uneven breathing.

"Please what? Please let go? I apologize. I should not have taken such liberties." He released her and stepped away, his eyes dancing with wickedness.

Despite her frustration, she had to smile back. "Is this your idea of flirtation?"

"I want your begetting day to be memorable," he said smoothly.

Considering all that had already transpired this day, Elanor could not help but laugh. "It is already quite memorable," she assured him, "but if you would like to make it more so, I have no objection." She gazed at him through her lashes and saw the glint of amusement in his eyes.

"Encouragement at last," he remarked to a nearby squirrel. "I had quite given up hope where she was concerned." The squirrel sat back on its hind legs and stared at Haldir with such interest that Elanor laughed again, her heart brimming with joy just to be with him. Haldir turned to her with a smile, and she found herself smiling back almost foolishly, but she did not care and apparently neither did he.

And so it went. As they progressed further and further into the heart of Lothlórien's Golden Wood, their banter continued, a flirtation unlike any conversation they had ever held. They had had many serious conversations and many that were lighter, but never had they had an interaction such as this; it was almost as though he was wooing her, although Elanor knew of course he was not.

"Haldir," she said at last, "something is different about you."

"Is it?" His tone was light. "Has my hair changed color? Am I taller?"

"You are more flirty."

"Flirty?" He arched a brow, affecting an innocent expression that did not fool her in the least.

"Yes, flirty. Both your brothers believe you do not flirt, but I know better. I still remember when you winked at me that day in Rivendell. It was the first time you ever looked at me." It had certainly not been the first time _she_ had looked at _him_, although she did not think she would tell him that quite yet. He had been to Rivendell on other visits over the years, and she had seen him several times from a distance. In her eyes he had always stood out, like the brightest star in the night sky, drawing her admiring gaze away from all other stars, no matter how brightly they shone. And then, because of Lana, she had convinced herself that she disliked him . . . and what a fool she had been.

"I remember," Haldir said, giving her a considering look. "I also recall that you ran away like a frightened little mouse."

"I walked away," she corrected with dignity. "And you did not even bother to pursue me." She meant it as a jest, but she heard the trace of pique in her voice and felt her face grow warm.

Haldir looked amused. "I had no opportunity. Perhaps if I'd had more time, I might have tried to find you."

"Perhaps?" She bit her lip.

"Yes, perhaps," he agreed, "if I had nothing better to do."

Feeling rather crestfallen, she peeped up at him and immediately saw the quiver at the corners of his mouth. "Oh, you are teasing me again!" she exclaimed.

He laughed. "Yes, Elanor, I am teasing you. I had no time to chase you, you know that. Why did you run away?"

"No one else had ever winked at me like that," she said in a small voice.

"That was no reason to run away. If you had stayed, I could have taken a moment to speak with you and at least discovered your name. Where was my courageous Elanor then?"

"She was not feeling very courageous," Elanor admitted. "I thought you were too bold, too intimidating. I thought . . . oh, I do not know what I thought. I was not very brave back then." This was true, for she had once asked Telrion about Haldir, and Telrion's answer had been enough to assure her that Haldir of Lórien was far too bright a star for Elanor of Rivendell. _That_ Elanor would not have dared to tease Haldir the way this Elanor was doing. _That _Elanor would not have dared to kiss him or touch him the way this Elanor had done. How changed she was . . . and all because of him.

He lifted her palm and put a kiss in the middle of it. "I like the brave new Elanor, but the shy Elanor, she was enchanting too."

"So enchanting that you went away and forgot me," she reminded him.

"I did not forget you. I remembered your eyes." He paused. "And your figure."

"Nothing more?" She could not quite conceal her disappointment, for she had remembered every detail about him from the top of his beautiful head to the soles of his leather boots. She had dreamed of him night after night, aching for him even then.

"It was enough," he answered simply. "Enough to make me want to find you again when I came back to Rivendell. But by the time that happened, you had decided I was a wicked defiler of maidenly innocence. And," he added, as though determined to press his advantage and make her feel as badly as possible, "_that _Elanor was so daring and rash she arranged to have me drugged and tied to her bed. Naked."

The memory of that incident still deeply unsettled her. "I did not ask them to take your clothes!" she said in true distress. "You know that, do you not? You do believe me?"

He shook his head, mocking her with his look. "Oh, I am not so sure, Elanor. I think you had that in mind all along. You have been trying to get me out of my clothes and into your bed ever since."

Elanor blushed hotly and looked down at the ground. "Is that the way it seems to you?" She felt suddenly, horribly mortified by the thought.

"I am joking, Elanor." Haldir paused, adding gently, "Elanor, look at me."

She lifted her gaze. His face had softened, and his eyes no longer held that mocking gleam. "What you did then does not matter to me now." He took her hands in his. "In any case, I had my revenge. I ripped off your gown."

She gave a startled laugh. "So you did! And I think you quite enjoyed it."

"Indeed, I did, although I was furious at the time." His gaze traveled downward. "And when you look at me like that, I am quite tempted to do it again." But instead he wrapped his arms around her and kissed her with great gentleness, yet in such a way that she could not doubt his passion.

From this moment onward, their progress through the woods was slowed by more and more frequent pauses. Each kiss grew more intense, each interlude more passion-filled, and each time Haldir's hands roamed more freely. And then they would resume their trek as though nothing had happened.

Elanor's senses hummed as she walked along beside him, never knowing how many steps they would take before he did it again, this slow, languorous tease that kept every nerve ending in her body alive and quivering. Even as the thought drifted through her head, he caught her about the waist with one powerful arm, drawing her to a halt. Before she could speak, he moved behind her and shifted her hair, his mouth dipping down to explore the curve of her neck while she arched against him in helpless need. This time his hands found her breasts, cupping them gently, stimulating her through the thin yellow fabric of her gown, his thumbs rubbing and stroking and circling her nipples until she shuddered and cried out. And then he turned her and took possession of her mouth in a ravenous kiss that nearly robbed her of the ability to stand upright.

At last it ended, and he gathered her close while she rested her head on his chest. His heart was thudding as hard as hers, and yet he seemed so calm and in control. "How can you bear it?" she whispered, still trembling with unfulfilled desire for him.

She felt the movement of his head as he looked down. "Bear what, Elanor? Bear kissing you? I assure you, I do not mind in the least."

She lifted her head and punched him lightly on the arm. "You know that is not what I mean!"

"Oh? What did you mean?" His gaze settled on her face, his eyes warm with laughter. "Explain," he prodded, as though he wanted her to say the words.

She moistened her lips, and saw his eyes follow the movement of her tongue. "How can you bear the waiting and . . . the wanting?"

He stroked her hair, his fingers sifting through it before moving onward to rest upon the curve of her shoulder. "You forget how old I am. I am used to waiting. I am patient." His hand slid down her arm to her hand, which he lifted, his fingers interlacing with hers.

"You were not so patient a little while ago," she pointed out, referring to the chair incident. With her free hand, she reached up to cup the back of his neck, taking pleasure in the inherent strength residing in the hard muscles running down into his powerful shoulders.

With a soft chuckle, he drew her against him once more. "On the contrary, you were the impatient one, Elanor. You were the one undressing me, if I remember correctly. I would have been content to wait."

"That is easy to say now, but I remember how it was. I do not think you are as patient as you like to pretend." She nearly added that the evidence of his eagerness was pressed against her abdomen, but there was no point in stating the obvious.

"Very well, I admit it. I lied. Where you are concerned, I am not patient, nor do I wish to wait any longer." His lips grazed her cheek as he whispered huskily, "I am dying to be inside of you, Elanor. Buried deep, like a sword in its sheath. That is what I want. It is all I can think about half the time." As if to prove the point, he rocked his hips, pressing against her in such a way that her arousal intensified.

"Oh, Haldir," she moaned.

"You like that idea?" he murmured. His lips nipped at the sensitive skin directly beneath her ear. "Of having me inside you?"

"Do you really need an answer?" Trembling with anticipation, she clung to him, one arm curled around his neck while the other splayed against his chest over his pounding heart. His arms steadied her as she swayed, the soft curves of her body molding to the hard contours of his.

He gave a low laugh. "No, your body speaks for you."

She gazed up at him, trying to read his expression and understand what he had in mind. Was he just playing games with her? "Haldir," she said, a bit hesitantly, "are you going to make love to me?"

He smoothed a hand over her hair, his gaze intent upon hers. "I am making love to you right now, sweetling. But if you mean, are we going to consummate our love here and now . . . no, we are not. When I make love to you the first time, I will do it in our talan where I can attend to you properly."

"I do not understand. Why must it be there?" She felt a little disappointed, but at the same time a deep excitement flared within her, as it did each time she thought of it.

"The first time is different from all others," he said. "After that, I will gladly make love to you often and anywhere, but there is only one first time. There will be pain as well as pleasure. How much I do not know, but I will take no chances with your comfort." His tone was adamant, telling her that on this one matter there would be no compromise.

Deeply touched, Elanor's eyes grew moist. "Oh, I see," she said softly. "Thank you. I did not think of that."

"My sweet Elanor." Haldir brushed a gentle finger across her lower lip.

She kissed his finger. "You know what I would like? I asked you this before, but the conversation went other places," she added with a grin.

He lifted a brow. "What would you like?"

"I would like to hear you sing. I have heard you have a fine voice."

"Who told you that?"

"Rúmil told me one time when we were walking. You were at the fences and he was escorting me in your stead. He was telling me a few things about you that I did not know."

"A few things?" he said quizzically. "Such as?"

"Such as that you sing very well."

"I see." He seemed to consider this.

"Will you sing to me, Haldir?" She held her breath, waiting for his answer.

His mouth curved into a smile of extraordinary beauty, even for him. "Yes, Elanor. When we reach the place I want to show you, we will sit and rest for a while. And I will sing."

x

Lurien was in a vile mood. His plans regarding Elanor were not going well and he was, to put it mildly, annoyed. Nonetheless, he had spent years learning to mask his emotions, and so he waited until his guard duty was over and he was alone in his talan before he displayed his displeasure by stabbing a knife into an oaken table. The knife stood upright, vibrating back and forth with the vicious force of his thrust.

It was his own fault, of course. He had left far too much up to chance and made assumptions he ought not to have made. He had underestimated both Elanor and Haldir. He had far preferred his original plan which had been to seduce Elanor and turn her against her guardian. It had been simpler and more pleasurable to contemplate. His revised plan had been to insinuate himself into her good graces, and make use of any opportunity that came along to cause Haldir trouble. It had not been foolproof, and he had not liked it as well, but it had seemed like the logical move.

Lurien paced back and forth across the wooden floor, wondering what else he could have done. The archery competition had seemed like a gift from the Valar to suit his purpose. Elanor should have failed miserably and Haldir should have been too far away to comfort and encourage her. Elanor's wretched performance should have caused many heads to shake. All Caras Galadhon should have been wondering why Haldir had permitted his ward to disgrace both him and herself by taking part in the event. Elanor should have been disconsolate and ready to fly back to Rivendell, which would have left Haldir looking foolish, angry, and inept. And if she had managed to put that arrow into Cothion . . . that would have sealed it.

None of this had occurred.

With a sigh, Lurien threw himself into a chair and swiped his hands over his face while he considered his next move. The problem was that he liked Elanor. He had not truly wished to see her unhappy, but her failure in the competition had seemed assured, and he had only intended to make use of it. In fact, had he not attempted to help her? Yes, he had. He had told Doria the truth; he had no real wish to hurt her friend. He only wanted to use her to get to Haldir, just as he had used Healea for the same end, all those many years ago.

Haldir was so arrogant and over-proud that he should have found it humiliating for his ward to make a fool of herself in front of the whole city. It should have driven a wedge between them, a wedge wide enough to allow Lurien to step in, to offer more advice, not to mention his own brand of comfort. Instead, he had heard that the two of them had gone off together for a walk in the woods looking completely at ease with each other. Mordor take them both! He would not be surprised if they were already lovers.

Lurien tapped his lower lip, pondering what to do next. If only he had not sworn that wretched oath, it would have been a simple matter to call Elanor to his bed. She had resisted him, but barely. He did not know how she had managed it, but he had known it was not easy for her. Even Healea had felt his power, though she had only laughed and said she wanted him anyway so there had been no need to employ its use. Of all the ellith he had used it on, no one but Tarwë had ever been immune.

Tarwë. Thoughts of her always made him feel guilty because he did not like hurting her. And now that she had forced him to confess his feelings for her, the guilt had begun to eat him alive. He loved Tarwë, but he could not take her as his wife until his business with Haldir was concluded.

Long ago he had sworn to revenge himself upon Haldir. He had never liked him, but since the day Lurien had failed his warden test, he had loathed him. Never, ever would he forget the humiliation of that day. Haldir had fought ruthlessly, allowing him no quarter, no opportunity to show what he could do. Lurien's jaw clenched at the memory. Haldir could have allowed him an opening, just one chance to prove to Lord Celeborn that he had what it took to be a warden . . . he ground his teeth in remembered fury. His lifetime dream had been denied because of Haldir's lack of generosity.

To add to this, there had been that day with Healea, when Haldir had returned so unexpectedly . . . that confrontation had only added fuel to the fire of Lurien's hatred. To be bested again so publicly . . . no, he would never forgive Haldir. Many times Tarwë had asked him to do just that, to forgive, but he had told her it was impossible. He would never forgive. Never. He would have his revenge and when he did it would be sweet indeed. As sweet and fair as Elanor herself.

Only then could he seek happiness for himself with Tarwë. She would simply have to accept this. And continue to wait until it happened.

x

"I am sorry," Túre repeated. She kept her face averted from Healea, her eyes fixed on a small urn that sat squarely in the middle of Healea's dining table. It was beautifully crafted and perfectly proportioned, and yet to her eyes it looked lonely and bereft.

"You owe me no apology," Healea said evenly. Túre could feel Healea watching her. "I only point out that you are letting your discontent color your perceptions. You see shadows where there are none. You deliberately turn away from the sunlight."

Túre rounded on her. "What fault is there in that? I see no hope in my future. I suffer disappointment after disappointment and I am used to it. But to see that . . . that Rivendell hussy come here and . . . " She broke off, aware that she was making no sense.

Healea remained composed, her beautiful face displaying only quiet concern. "Elanor is not a hussy. I know that is what we expected, but it is not true. I still cannot imagine what she might have done to warrant the punishment Lord Elrond meted out, but that is not my concern. What concerns me right now is you, Túre. You take no enjoyment from life. You have forgotten how to feel joy. To blame Elanor or anyone else for your unhappiness is a mistake unworthy of you."

Túre studied the floor. "I am lonely, Healea. I am tired of being alone. Where is the joy in that?"

"Many others are alone, and only some of them by choice. You must be patient. You will find your true love someday."

"You cannot know that," Túre said forlornly. "I appreciate your kindness to me. You have always been a good friend and I honor you for that." In fact, it would be more accurate to say that she worshiped Healea. She would do anything for her friend, anything to please her, no matter what the deed might be. Did Healea realize that?

"If I befriended Elanor, would you call it betrayal?" Healea sounded more curious than perturbed.

Túre was silent, mulling this over with surprise. "Do you like her?" she said finally.

"I do. I find her pleasant and interesting, and she has courage. She also has joy in her and that uplifts me."

"And I do not," Túre said flatly. "My company is disagreeable."

Healea sighed. "Túre, I have loved you since we were children. I will continue to love you forever and nothing will change that. But I admit there are times when your company depletes me of my own joy."

Hurt, Túre could feel herself growing defensive. "I am sorry," she said yet again, her tone and manner stiff.

"Do not be sorry. I only want you to heed me when I say that life is good. We are elves, Túre. The firstborn of Ilúvatar, the people of the stars. We are gifted with immortal life, spared from illness or death. We live forever. You must look for joy, my dear, or else you will fade. And that I do not want to see. I do not want to lose you."

Túre bit her lip, but it was not enough to prevent her face from crumpling. At once Healea's arms were around her, and she buried her face in Healea's hair, sobbing, "I know you speak the truth. I just do not know how or where to look for joy any more."

"Seek first the joy within your own heart," Healea soothed. "Do not look for a lover to give it to you. You have within yourself all the resources you require to find true happiness. All elves do, and you are no different in that respect. You have the power to shape your life the way you wish it. You must choose your desires and then believe in them."

"You make it sound so simple," Túre whispered. "It is not, Healea. It is not simple at all." She wished suddenly and desperately for her mother, but her parents had gone to the Undying Lands more than two centuries past. Would she ever see them again?

Healea cupped her palm against the curve of Túre's cheek. "Nor is it as difficult as you think. You must believe and you must be open. Happiness is a choice, free for the taking and open to all. Now go and rest. We will speak of this again later."

"Very well, Healea." They embraced again, and Túre moved to the door. "Thank you for forgiving me. I should not have spoken so to Elanor. Perhaps one day I will be able to ask her forgiveness as well, but that day is not yet at hand." She left the talan, closing the door soundlessly behind her.

The room was quiet after Túre departed, the only sound the rustling of the mallyrn leaves outside the open window. Healea stood still, replaying what she had said to Túre in her mind. Then a voice broke the silence.

"You did well, my love. I am proud of you. You spoke with wisdom."

Cothion moved gracefully into the room, and Healea turned to him with a smile. Of all the males she had met, he was the only one who had ever conquered her heart or made it leap every time she set eyes on him. In appearance he was nowhere near as striking as either Lurien or Haldir, possessing neither the sentinel's breathtaking facial beauty nor the warden's lethal forcefulness. Her husband's face was angular, his features regular but not remarkable. And yet he had a very masculine presence and a quiet confidence and dignity that appealed to her more than she could ever explain. He was also very wise and learned, for he was even older than she, and had spent much time buried in ancient books and scholarly pursuits.

"Perhaps I should have told her you were here," Healea remarked with a sigh. She leaned against him as he slid an arm around her waist and kissed her lightly on the brow. "She would not like to know that you had heard her words."

"Her secrets are safe with me. You know that. You gave her good advice."

"I only pass on some of what you taught me, Cothion." She angled her head to look up at him, and saw him smile. "My wise and learned love."

"What did she say to Elanor?" he inquired.

Healea explained briefly and saw him frown. "It is partially my fault," she added. "Túre, Arnis and I made assumptions about Elanor based on a lack of facts." She shrugged. "We were wrong and we were unkind." It was not an apology and she knew he knew it.

Cothion shook his head and sighed. "And still I love you, no matter what you say or do. I am bewitched and besotted, and I consider myself fortunate."

"That is because you know my good qualities," she said smugly. She lifted a hand and touched his cheek, then ran her finger up the line of his jaw to his ear. "I have offered to help Elanor with her archery," she remarked. She knew that he would understand it was her way of making amends.

"Thank the Valar," Cothion murmured with dry humor. "Be sure you stand behind her when she shoots."

Healea laughed and flicked the tip of his ear. "I can move as fast as you, my dear. You were very quick this morning, by the way."

"I can be quick when the situation demands. Or I can be slow and deliberate and purposeful." He caught hold of her hand and removed it from the vicinity of his ear. "I ran your bathwater," he added calmly. "I put a relaxation spell into the water."

"Which one?" she murmured slyly. She gazed up into his clear blue eyes, noting the amusement and deep affection in their gleam.

"The one best suited to your present mood," he said indulgently. He took her hands and brought them to his chest. "You will have to get in the water to find out."

Healea gave him a languorous smile. "Well," she said, "I think I will do just that."

x

Haldir took Elanor through the deeper tangles of the forest, past thickets dark with shadows hiding the tiny animals who called it home. Far above their heads, a variety of birds called out to each other with musical trills while the wind sighed softly through the mellyrns, a quiet shiver that trembled the large, golden leaves. At this point he had left off his teasing, for he must have known she could bear no more, and perhaps neither could he.

They now followed a narrow deer path, Haldir's hand holding hers as though with a strong sense of purpose. She glanced at him, admiring the way his dark green tunic flattered him, its tiny whorls of stitching hardly darker than the fabric, creating a mosaic of pattern that was more texture than design.

He caught her gaze upon him, and sent her a small smile. "Come, we are almost there."

They approached a tall thicket that appeared no different from the rest. Then Haldir pushed aside a section of the brambles and held them aside while Elanor stepped through into a clearing. A gasp escaped her lips.

The area was not large, but it was bathed in light. All around its perimeter, tall trees stood like wary sentinels, their branches bending down as if in silent greeting to all visitors. Yet these trees were not silent.

"Yes, your senses tell you true. These trees are different from all others in Lórien. These trees speak. Can you hear them?"

Elanor lifted her eyes. "I hear them. You hear them too?"

"I do not hear the plants the way you do, Elanor, but these trees I hear. They are the guardians of this glade. No one enters without their permission. There is much magic in this place."

Elanor nodded. She could feel the trees' strength and sense of purpose. "I am welcome here, they say. And so are you. They know you." She shifted her gaze back to the sight which had brought about her first delighted gasp, the magnificent floral display blanketing the entire center of the glade.

Never had she imagined that such flowers as this could exist.

She sank to her knees, greeting one of the variegated blooms with the gentle touch of a finger. "They are exquisite," she said with awe. She glanced up and saw Haldir watching her with an odd little smile. "What are they called? I have never seen such flowers before."

"They are called ninniach-loth. They grow only here and in Valinor." He lowered himself to the grass beside her. "Each bloom will carry every color of the rainbow during the course of its life. The newest buds are red with the fire of youth and passion, but as they start to mature, the petals transform, slowly taking on orange and then yellow and so forth as they age. The oldest and wisest of the flowers are dark purple with indigo in their hearts."

Amazed, Elanor bent down to study one of the flowers, closely examining the gradual changes in hue. This particular bloom had red at the center, and just as Haldir said, each of its broad petals contained orange that gradually blended into yellow at the edges. Yet the same plant had a second bloom, and this was yellow at the center with each of its petals fading gradually to green with blue edges. How could this be?

"To see this place with my own eyes is a gift beyond price," she told him quietly. "You know me well. Thank you." Studying the ninniach-loth, she tilted her head slightly and reached out to it with her senses.

"What does it say to you?"

Haldir sounded both curious and intrigued, and it suddenly struck her that neither Telrion nor Minden had ever been either of those things when it came to her special gift. She was not even sure they had ever believed her when she said she could hear the plants speak. And yet in Haldir's eyes gleamed great wisdom. Oh yes, this elf believed her; he had seen far more of the world than either of her two Rivendell friends.

"It is proud, this plant," she told him. "Rather arrogant, in fact. It keeps itself aloof from the world, yet it has a strong streak of nobility and respect for life."

Haldir picked up a tiny twig, twirling it between his fingers. "Galadriel brought the seeds from Valinor. She planted the first ninniach-loth herself."

"That must have been very long ago."

"Indeed. She placed them here as a testament to her love for Celeborn when they first took up residence in Lothlórien."

Elanor found another twig and used it to trace a pattern on the back of Haldir's hand. "How lovely and romantic. And what did Celeborn do?"

Haldir caught hold of her fingers. "He put the trees here to guard them."

She glanced at the closest ninniach-loth, inhaling its bold scent while she considered its history. "Why do they not grow elsewhere? I am surprised Galadriel has not brought them into her own gardens."

"She tried, but they died. It seems they only want to grow here, within this ring of trees."

"I see." Elanor sighed, closing her eyes to better hear the voices of the wind, the trees, and the flowers that bent near Haldir's head. "I can understand why they are so proud. They have stood the tests of time, like the Noldor themselves. But I wonder why they do not like to be moved."

Haldir released her hand and rolled to his side, resting his cheek on his fist. "This is their place, Elanor. Where they belong. They are part of the lore of the wood, part of the Lady's power, part of Arda. In this place they remain strong. If moved from their home, they grow weak and despair. They are much like us in that regard. If I were unable to return to the Golden Wood, I would soon grow weary of life."

"But someday you will sail to the West," she pointed out.

"Of course, as will you. But until then, my heart remains here in Lórien."

Elanor looked away from his penetrating gaze, wishing she had the courage to tell him that her heart was also tied to Lórien, for it belonged to him. But there was no point in saying it. He already knew she cared for him, and the time was not yet right to tell him that her feelings had gone far beyond caring. She knew he did not love her the way that she loved him, but perhaps there was a chance that he would . . . someday . . . when enough time had passed. Even to Healea he had not lost his heart, so he must guard it as fiercely as he guarded Lórien's borders. Could someone like Elanor of Rivendell ever hope to breach such defenses? Perhaps Túre was right and he would forget her the moment she was gone . . . .

Haldir reached up to turn her face back in his direction. "Elanor, I think you should accept Healea's offer. She would be a good teacher as well as friend."

Elanor's eyes widened. "You heard?"

"When you came into the garden, I was in reverie in a nearby bower."

Elanor mentally reviewed what had been said. First there had been Túre's insults, followed by Healea's explanation and offer of assistance with archery. She bit her lip, her cheeks heating in remembrance of Túre's stinging taunt that Elanor was trying to impress Haldir and make him notice her. Did he think the same? "Yes, I like Healea," she replied, trying to ignore the sudden tightness in her throat. "Much better than before."

He seemed to sense her embarrassment, and perhaps its reason, for the corners of his mouth lifted just a little. "Pay no heed to Túre," he said gently. "You are pretty enough and clever enough and old enough to interest me. And that is the least of what attracts me to you. I want to make that clear so there is no mistake." His eyes held hers, and she could not doubt the truth of what he said.

"Poor Túre," she said awkwardly.

"Indeed," he agreed. "But Healea spoke wisely. Do not worry about Túre. She will find her own path just as you are finding yours." Without warning, he pulled her down on top of him in the long, soft grass. His arms encircled her waist, his hands warm upon her back as she turned her head into the curve of his shoulder. "I wish I could make love to you right here," he murmured, "but the Galadhrim consider this a place of sanctity and sanctuary. However, there is nothing wrong with a few kisses . . ."

And he proceeded to give her those kisses until they were both breathing hard, then he rolled her off of him and sat up. "Do you still wish me to sing?" he inquired.

"Oh, yes!" Elanor sat up at once. "Will you? Now?"

He looked amused. "Yes, Elanor, I would be happy to."

The song he chose was a haunting tale of love, one she had never heard before, but which told the tale of two Sylvan elves who had loved and lost each other, only to find each other again in the Undying Lands. Delight shivered through Elanor as she stretched out in the grass and listened. If she had not already been in love with him, she would have fallen in love all over again at this instant. Throughout the song his eyes never once left hers, and his deep, rich voice wrapped around her like a caress, touching her soul so deeply that by the time the song was over, her heart ached with longing. Even the ninniach-loth were touched; she could feel the emotion emanating from them as well as from the sentinel trees, who had also listened.

"Haldir, that was beautiful," she said emotionally. She looked at his hand where it rested near hers in the grass. She always noticed his hands; they were well-shaped and elegant, and so very strong. "Do you and your brothers sing much while you are at the border?"

"At times we do." A moment of silence passed. "The words we sing are sometimes different," he added. His faint, playful smile aroused her suspicions.

"Different? How so?"

"We make up variations on the original. Rúmil is particularly proficient at inventing new lyrics. And no, I will not sing them to you. Most are very naughty and bawdy."

Elanor tried to imagine this, and found herself laughing. "I would not care," she assured him. "I think I would like it if it was you doing the singing."

Haldir flicked the end of her nose with his finger, a lazy half smile curving the corner of his mouth. "I think you might too, but these trees would not. I cannot sing such songs here in this place."

"Another time then," she said, and lay back again in the grass. "In some other place." She stretched like a cat in the sun and smiled up at him.

He bent down and brushed his lips seductively along the curve of her cheek, the lightest graze of flesh upon flesh. "Perhaps in bed," he whispered.

Elanor's heart gave a mad lurch. "Haldir, it is time to confess. Your manner with me has changed since this morning. Will you not explain?"

"You are right, Elanor. I do owe you an explanation."

And he proceeded to tell her about his encounter with Galadriel.

x

Rúmil sprawled on the garden bench, gloomily watching two doves play their mating game in the grass near his feet. The female hopped forward and the male followed with single-minded determination, yet the moment he neared the vicinity of the female's tail feathers, she pivoted and hopped back the way she had come. Undaunted, the purposeful male turned and followed, yet when he reached her, she turned around yet again and headed in the opposite direction.

"How typical," Rúmil muttered beneath his breath. "The little tease." He leaned forward, eying the female with disfavor. "Give him a chance," he told her. "Look at him, the poor fellow. He needs you."

Neither dove paid him any heed. The steadfast male's gaze remained fixed on his quarry while the coy female continued to hop away from him, then stop as though waiting for him to catch up. Each time he neared her, she repeated the whole business, which for some reason exasperated Rúmil far more than it ought.

Suddenly, the game was over. Looking bored, the female came to a halt and stood in apparent resignation while the male stepped forward with a beady gleam in his eye. Rúmil nearly applauded. The enterprising male made the slightest of movements, then turned and strutted away as though he ruled Lothlórien. The female ignored him and began to neaten her tail feathers.

"That was it?" Rúmil demanded, glaring at the male. "After all that courtship, that is the best you can do? Even I can do better than that." He slumped back on the bench with a sigh. "But not much better," he added disconsolately. Neither dove seemed at all concerned with his problems.

"Not that you care," he addressed the female. "Why would anyone care about a childish, fickle, unreliable elf like me?" The female dove turned and looked at him with blatant disdain. Clearly, she agreed.

Rúmil released a pent-up sigh of frustration and misery. He was about to explain matters to the dove when a movement at the far end of the garden caught his attention. He turned to see who was there, and stiffened.

Looking absurdly pretty in a gown of deep blue, Nerwen moved along the path in his direction. Her face was pale and set with resolution, and she carried the pouch he had given her. Rúmil braced himself as she came to a halt before him.

"May I speak with you?" Her voice was extremely formal and polite.

Rúmil remained seated, for he was still angry at her. "I am very busy at the moment," he said coldly. He crossed his arms over his chest and glowered at her.

"Nonsense, Rúmil. You are doing nothing at all."

"That is an assumption. I am thinking. And talking to the doves."

Nerwen looked around. "What doves?"

"You frightened them off," he pointed out.

"I see. Well, I am sorry to have interrupted something so important, but I must talk to you. May I sit down?"

Rúmil moved over, leaving a sizable open spot on the bench, which Nerwen took, perching on the edge and looking hesitant. "I am sorry if this hurts you," she said in a low voice, "but I must return your gift. It is beautiful, but it was given in anger, and because of that I could never enjoy looking at it."

Shocked, Rúmil could at first think of nothing to say. "It was not given in anger," he said at last. "I was only angry when I gave it to you."

"That is the same thing," Nerwen said firmly.

"It is not the same thing at all," he countered.

"Indeed it is, Rúmil. I am not surprised that you do not understand my point. You and I seldom see eye to eye on anything."

Rúmil barely held on to his temper. "That is also untrue. We have agreed on many things on many occasions."

"Such as?" she inquired, her eyes flashing in a manner he found both aggravating and stimulating.

He racked his brain. "We both like to dance."

"Because it does not involve real communication," she retorted crisply.

"Ah, but you are wrong." He allowed his gaze to sweep over her body, lingering in all his favorite places. "It is the best kind of communication. One of the best, at least."

She leaped to her feet, her lips set in a tight line. "I can see where this is headed. I believe your next move is to try to kiss me."

Rúmil also rose, towering over her with hands that itched to seize her by the arms and shake her. "Which of course would be inexcusable to someone as cold and passionless as you, Nerwen."

"Ooh!" Her fists clenched, and for a moment he thought she was going to strike him. "You are impossible, Rúmil! Do not speak to me again unless it is to apologize!"

"Grovel at your feet, you mean?" he taunted. He had no idea why he was being so cruel except that by being so, he drove a sharp spike of pain into his own heart. And on some level, he believed that he deserved that pain.

With a gasp of outrage, Nerwen shoved the pouch containing his gift into his hands and walked away without a backward glance. Had he really expected anything else?

Hating himself, Rúmil threw himself back onto the bench with a groan of despair. What a fool he was!

The female dove chose that moment to rejoin him. She landed gracefully on the bench, then hopped over to perch upon his knee and fixed her beady eyes upon him.

"Stop smirking," he told her darkly. "You know nothing about it."

Offended, she fluffed her feathers and flew away, but not without leaving him a gift of her own upon his clean black leggings. He stared at it for a moment, then covered his face with his hands. "This is unbelievable," he muttered.

He decided to get drunk.

x

Elanor and Haldir remained for some time in the glade with the ninniach-loth, nestled together in companionable silence. Her head on his shoulder, Elanor listened to the voices of the flowers while Haldir played with her hair, a slight, rather quizzical smile on his lips which he did not explain. She thought he seemed more contented and at peace than she had ever seen him. "These flowers," she murmured, a bit drowsily, "I just realized they remind me of you, Haldir."

"Of me?" He raised himself up on one elbow and lifted an eyebrow. "I remind you of a flower?"

She smiled at his affronted expression. "In character, I mean. The ninniach-loth stand tall and proud and dignified, and they prefer to keep themselves aloof from the world. They are really quite haughty, and yet they have much kindness and love in them. I can feel it." She reached up to run a finger along the strong line of Haldir's jaw. "You are a complex elf, my dear guardian. You are all purple and indigo on the outside, but I think you have much fiery warmth and passion in your center."

With a suddenness that took her by surprise, Haldir rolled over on top of her, pinning her with his weight. "Perhaps we should go back to the city and test your theory," he said provocatively. "You will learn how much fire I have in my center."

She grinned, enjoying his aggressiveness and the heaviness of his body upon hers. "Ah, so that is what it took to get you moving. It was easier than I thought."

"Are you so anxious to leave this place?" he teased.

"No," she admitted. "To see this sight with you was the best begetting day present I have ever received. But it grows late." Reluctantly, she removed herself from his arms and rose to her feet. "I must bid them goodbye before we leave."

Haldir also rose, waiting patiently while Elanor walked around the glade, reaching out with her senses, bestowing love and approval and praise, not only on the ninniach-loth, but on the noble sentinel trees, who seemed tolerantly pleased by her tribute.

When they finally left the glade, Elanor sighed with contentment. "What a day this has been. I have never had one like it in my life."

"It is not yet over," Haldir said obliquely.

She glanced up at him as they wound their way past a thick area of underbrush. "That does mean what I think it means, does it not?"

"It depends on how tired you are, Elanor. Our first time together must be perfect."

A thrill of anticipation fluttered through her. "It will be," she said, her heart pounding an erratic rhythm. "How could it not? In any case, you just said you wanted to test my theory."

"Your flower theory, you mean? I admit I am not fond of the comparison, but my stamen seems anxious to conduct an investigation."

Elanor gave a choking laugh. "I cannot believe you say such things."

"Does it offend you?" he inquired.

"No, I like it. It makes me feel . . . liberated somehow. And important. As though I am a special person. You can say whatever you like to me," she added, a bit shyly. "I like your jokes."

He slid his arm around her and drew her close. "You are special, Elanor. And I can think of no other maiden I would say such things to, so I suppose that is a great compliment." He sounded a little surprised by his own statement.

"Indeed, it is a compliment. It is the nicest compliment I have ever received."

Haldir's grey eyes met hers. Saying nothing, he bent down and kissed her long and sweetly. And for some reason Elanor could not explain, this kiss seemed more significant that all others that had come before it.

"Let us go, Elanor," he said quietly. "We have a long walk ahead of us."

tbc

ninniach-loth rainbow flower


	21. Chapter TwentyOne

**Chapter Twenty-One**

The sun had set by the time Elanor and Haldir reached the gates of Caras Galadhon. The return journey had progressed more quickly than the one out to the glade of the ninniach-loth; Haldir had not seemed to want to dally and flirt the way he had earlier. He had, however, courteously asked her several times if their pace was too fast, and once, when she'd hesitated, he'd offered to carry her if she felt the need to sleep. Of course she had declined; she would have felt foolish, and did not wish to display such weakness to him. Keeping his good opinion remained important to her, even if she was a little tired.

Inside the talan, Elanor sank wearily into a chair and kicked off her shoes while Haldir closed the door and dropped the privacy latch into place. He glanced quickly in her direction, then strode into the sleeping chamber and lit the lamp, while she nervously ran her palms over the folds of her skirt. This was it, the moment she'd been waiting for. What would he do? How would this start? What would he expect of her?

A moment later he reentered the room, wearing only his leggings and his black under-tunic. He halted abruptly, his gaze sliding over her in one of those penetrating looks for which he was known. "You are tired," he said. "Too tired for what we had in mind. I can see it in your face."

"I am not too tired," she protested. "If I was, I would say so."

"Indeed you are tired, Elanor." His gaze moved over her with obvious longing. "I would not feel right about taking advantage of you now. We will save our lovemaking for another time."

Unable to believe her ears, she rose to her feet and set her hands on her hips. "Haldir, you would _not_ be taking advantage of me!"

"Yes, I would be." He crossed the floor and stood before her, adopting one of his imperious facial expressions. "I have waited for this for many weeks and I can certainly wait a few more hours. And so can you." Despite his words, Elanor heard the frustration lurking beneath his autocratic tone, though she knew he was trying to hide it. Perhaps he even thought he was succeeding.

"I feel like throwing something at you!" she told him crossly. "Besides myself, that is."

"Elanor," he said warningly. "You are not being sensible."

"I do not feel sensible! Will you please stop being so noble and honorable? I want you to take me to bed and I am not too tired. Anyway," she added persuasively, "we would be lying down."

He lifted a brow. "You think so?"

She ignored the question. "You are carrying this too far," she went on. "After your behavior this afternoon, I would think you'd be ripping my clothes off by now."

"The thought has crossed my mind several times these past hours. I am not quite as slow as you think, Elanor." As if to prove the point, his next movement was quick. In the blink of an eye, her wrists were seized and held behind her back, while he gazed almost smugly down at her. "Lovemaking can be demanding exercise. I do not think you realize that."

"I do not lack an imagination, Haldir," she said tartly. "You are not going to talk me out of this so you may as well stop trying. It is too late to turn back."

"You think I wish to turn back?" With a sigh, he drew her closer, his jaw resting against her hair.

"I think you are dawdling." Elanor lifted her head, noting the slightly compressed set of his lips, the only outward sign that he fought an inner battle with himself. "I am not unaware that I hold a few cards of my own," she added beguilingly. "I may be new to this game, but I am learning how to play."

"I have noticed that," he said dryly.

"Well then?"

"Elanor, are you very certain?" Something smoldered in those grey eyes that had not been there a moment before. She could sense him wavering, longing to surrender.

"Completely," she assured him, her heart beating fast.

"Very well, Elanor, I yield. I can resist you no longer." Yet still he seemed to hesitate, but for what reason she had no idea.

"Well, then, kiss me, you big lug," she said with exasperation.

With a sudden laugh, he released her wrists and drew her into his arms. And he did kiss her . . . but in a way that told her he was not going to rush. His warm lips brushed across hers, starting at one corner of her mouth, feathering across her upper lip as he worked his way to the other corner before transferring his attentions to her lower lip.

Each kiss seemed slightly different, a gradual rise in ardor playing on her heightened senses, until he was drawing her tender flesh into his mouth and flicking it with his tongue. When his lips found her neck, the kisses grew open-mouthed and wet, his tongue straying here and there, exploring her while she trembled with half-closed eyes, trying to take in the reality that it was finally happening, that he was actually going to make love to her in that big bed that had been so lonely all these nights.

Pausing at last, he murmured, "Is that closer to what you had in mind?"

Elanor drew a breath, feeling weak in the knees. "It is a good start, but please keep going."

He slid his hands down her back to her hips. "So what is next? Shall I tear off your clothes?" His playfulness was back, with something else added into the mix. Excitement.

"I would not be averse to it. It sounds quite romantic to me right now."

"Romantic?" He laughed softly. "I am not so sure of that. Did you find it romantic when I did it the last time?"

"No," she admitted, "but that was different."

"True enough." To Elanor's delight, he scooped her into his arms and headed for the sleeping chamber, his strong arms bearing her weight without noticeable effort. Inside, he twirled her once around and set her on her feet beside the bed. "Last chance, my Elanor. Shall we continue?"

"Yes," she answered, her heart pounding hard. "Yes, yes, yes."

"Very well." His nimble fingers loosened the ties of her gown, then he raised his hands to the slope of her neck and slid them downward, a long caress that took the fabric of her gown with it so that her shoulders and upper arms were bared. She sent up a silent prayer of thanks that she had worn no chemise when she gone out to garden, mostly because they all needed laundering. Had Haldir noticed? Most likely he had.

His hands halted just above her elbows, his attention fixed on her breasts. Her gown had fallen so far down her arms that the upper aureoles of her nipples were revealed. "Do you find this to your liking, milady? I know I do."

Elanor sucked in a breath, feeling her nipples tingle and stiffen into firm peaks under his gaze. "I find everything you have done so far to my liking," she whispered. "Except the part where you tried to weasel out of the whole thing."

"Elanor, you amuse me. You've amused me almost from the first, when I awoke to find myself naked on your bed. You were trying so hard to make me think you were sophisticated and experienced. I think you even wanted to arouse me, although I am not sure you knew it at the time."

"I was not trying to arouse you!" she corrected. "I was trying to infuriate you."

"Ah, well, you did that too, most successfully." She could feel his gaze on her breasts, where her nipples strained against the yellow fabric as though seeking to escape. "But there were other things I wanted to do."

"Such as strangle me?"

"Such as this." Without warning her gown fell to her waist, its sleeves now gathered at her elbows. "You have the most beautiful breasts I have ever seen." He skimmed the backs of his fingers over their full upper swell, lightly tracing all around their curvature before dipping down into the deep vee between.

Elanor blushed with pleasure, even though she did not believe him. "Haldir, you do not have to make things up. I am sure I am quite ordinary in that respect."

"You are not ordinary. Yes, I have seen many breasts, but yours . . . " He did not complete the sentence, which for some reason made her almost believe him. "I dream about your breasts at night," he said, very softly. "Touching them. Kissing them."

He was pushing her gown down her arms and over her hips, so that it slid down to pool at her feet. Beneath, she wore a pair of lacy pantalettes rather than a full chemise, an item of apparel Doria had suggested she try. Haldir gazed at them with quirked lips, then boldly loosened the tie and hooked his thumbs inside the waistline. A moment later, they joined her gown on the floor.

Despite what intimacy they had already shared, Elanor suffered a pang of self-consciousness under Haldir's leisurely perusal. "Haldir, you are staring," she said blushingly.

"Do not be shy," he said, his golden voice more husky than usual. "I have seen you before, but each time . . ." He touched the hollow at the base of her throat, his fingertips following a trail downward, through the valley between her breasts, over the flat plane of her stomach until they reached the swell of her feminine mound, where he stopped. He stepped closer, his voice a caress in her ear. "Each time I see you like this I enjoy it more. You are like an elanor blossom, smooth and pale and lovely to behold."

His hands closed on her upper arms, exerting a gentle backward pressure until the cool sheets kissed her back and her head touched the pillow. He leaned over her, studying her face, but when she reached for him, he drew back with a shake of his head. "Wait. Let me undress first." With fluid movements, he shed the under-tunic and tossed it aside, then stood still and gave her a speculative look.

Elanor rested her head on her arm and gazed significantly at his leggings, his last remaining article of clothing. "I think you need to take those off too," she said demurely.

"I'm well aware of that." His gaze was rather hooded. "I was wondering if you would like to do it."

Surprised, Elanor considered this. He must like the idea of her undressing him or he would not have suggested it. The thought was unexpectedly exciting, that he would want her to do such a thing. To be given that right, to be allowed . . . a shiver raced through her. "Yes," she told him with shy determination. "I would like that. Come closer."

She sat on the bed's edge while he moved directly in front of her. With careful fingers, she loosened the leather tie and worked a reasonable amount of slack into the lacing before easing it out and over his erect member. He seemed disinclined to help, but just stood there watching, his breathing deep and even, while she managed to maneuver the leggings over his bare hips and halfway down his thighs. Here, she stopped, her gaze drawn to that part of him jutting arrogantly just inches from her face from its nest of silver-gold curls. The sight stirred her senses in a new way, and for the first time, the idea of kissing him there seemed appealing. But should she?

She looked up at him uncertainly. "Would you like me to . . ."

"Not now." He smoothed a gentle hand over her hair. "Let us not put the cart before the horse. The emphasis right now is on you."

"I thought it was on us," she replied. She scooted backward, leaving an open place beside her on the bed, an invitation that hastened the removal of his leggings.

"True enough," he said. "It is indeed on us." He lay down beside her on the bed and gathered her close, his dark lashes lowered as he gazed down the length of her body.

Now that he too was naked, Elanor's shyness began to abate, replaced by a desire to look her fill at him, to take in his perfect male beauty without feeling like she was only tormenting herself with what she could not have. She suddenly felt bold, voluptuous even, wanting to do things she had never done before. Yet the action she chose was probably the one he least expected and perhaps the most presumptuous. She began to undo his warrior braids, smoothing out the silvery blond strands while he watched her without comment, one corner of his mouth curling just a little.

At last his hair was unbound, a breathtaking sight to her feminine eyes. "That is better," she said softly. "You look . . . very nice."

"Thank you, Elanor." He sounded amused. "You look nice too. I do believe this is the way I like you best. Naked and in my bed."

He bent down and brushed his lips along the curve of her shoulder, then propped himself up on one elbow, his eyes roving over her as though she were a work of art he wished to savor. Just when she wondered if he would ever do anything but look, he placed his hand on her stomach and began to explore, the pads of his fingers skimming her flesh, moving up her ribcage and on to the under swell of her breasts. There, his thumb and fingers began an enticing massage, caressing her in ever widening sweeps but never quite touching her nipple, even when she shifted and moaned.

Frustrated, she wrapped an arm around his neck and tried to pull his head toward her breast, an action that earned her a soft male laugh. "Yes, Elanor? You want something?"

She looked at him, at the strong line of his jaw, the full lips, the strong nose, and the eyes that held such a playful glitter in their depths. "I want you, Haldir." It was all she could think of to say.

"I know you do," he said gently. "I want you too. But I also want to take my time and enjoy the experience. I may not be much good at flirting, but I am good at this."

"So I hear. Your reputation precedes you, you modest thing."

He lifted a brow. "Well, then? Trust me."

"I do trust you." This time there was no teasing in her voice. "I have always trusted you." She touched his hair, weaving her fingers into its silvery softness. "In any case, I think you flirt very well . . . in a bold, naughty sort of way."

"That is why I seldom flirt. I fear to offend. I lack Rúmil's flair with words." He bent down and placed a light kiss on her breast, then parted his lips and gave her another that was wetter and closer to the nipple. Then came the third kiss, the one that circled and teased until . . . at last his mouth closed upon the aching bud.

Elanor gasped with pleasure. Heat streaked through her, flaring out to every corner of her body, but most especially to that place between her thighs where the fire had been simmering for hours. There, she felt the familiar hot rush, the precursor of that desperate need that only he could fill. She badly wanted to reach for him, to explore every inch of him, but at the same time she wanted to lie still and take pleasure in this exquisite tugging sensation so as to prolong it as long as possible. Perhaps he was right; slow was best, at least for now . . . and she really was a little tired, despite what she had told him.

"Elanor," he whispered against her breast. "I love your nipples. The sight of them, the taste of them . . . you have no idea what that does to me. I want to devour you in every way possible." He rubbed his cheek against her skin, and then transferred his attentions to her other breast, nipping and sucking while she arched and whimpered in a near frenzy. Of their own accord, her hands roamed over what parts of him she could reach, smoothing his hair, skimming over his broad shoulders and long back, exalting in the hard masculine contours so different from her own.

After a time, he returned to her lips, his tongue thrusting aggressively into her mouth to plunder deeply and hungrily in a thrilling conquest. Something in the way he held her, in the placement of his hands and the urgent movement of his body made this kiss stand out, like an act of possession, claiming rights not previously claimed. Lost in bliss, Elanor wrapped a leg around his, and in response he brought his thigh hard against the female folds concealing her aching center. Pressing against him, she rubbed the sole of her foot along his muscular calf at the same time she reached down to touch him intimately.

"Oh, Elanor . . ." he breathed, as her fingers wrapped around him in a gentle hold. He gave a low moan of pleasure and relaxed, his eyes half closed, yet after the first few strokes, he stayed her hand. "Not too much. What you did this morning, it took the edge off, but . . . that part of me is still most eager to proceed. I am trying not to listen, but it is not easy. It sometimes has a mind of its own."

"Like its master," she said pertly.

"Not at all," he corrected with a grin. "Its master is not governed by lust."

"Of course not. Its master is far too wise and noble and stubborn and pigheaded—"

"Elanor, stop."

"Which is why its master allowed me to sit on his lap this morning," she added slyly. "And do what I did."

"Ah, I see you are asking for punishment." Without warning, Elanor suddenly found her wrists seized and her legs thrust apart by a pair of powerful knees. Haldir settled himself between her thighs as though it was his right, just as he had so many weeks before on that night in Rivendell. "I think it is time for Haldir's revenge," he said with mock sternness.

Elanor saw the wicked glint in his eye. "What are you going to do? Haldir, do not even _think_ about tickling me!" She struggled to free her hands, but her efforts failed; she was no match for his strength.

"Oh, Elanor, Elanor," he said, shaking his head, "you misjudge me yet again. Stop wiggling. You just said you trusted me."

"I do, but . . ." She looked up at him uneasily.

"Then do it. Trust me. I am not going to tickle you. Do not put ideas into my head. I have something else in mind. Something better."

She eyed him with suspicion. "This does not involve hithlain, does it?"

"No hithlain." Laughter quivered his voice. "I am not going to tie you up. Trust me."

"I do trust you," she said. "But what did you mean by revenge?"

"It was a joke, nothing more. Perhaps I should tell you that you will like the revenge I have in mind." He sounded very sure of himself. Almost cocky.

Before she could think what to say, he captured her mouth again, an urgent demand that felt both right and natural, as though the rhythmic stroke of tongues blended more than just their mouths. Then he freed her wrists and sat up, rearranging both himself and her so that he sat between her legs with her thighs resting on top of his, her legs on either side of his hips. Elanor went tense, now feeling more exposed than voluptuous. This was not what she expected and to lie here like this, open to his gaze, was unfamiliar and slightly embarrassing.

Yet it was her face upon which he gazed, his eyes connecting to hers with a reassuring intensity. "Trust," he said softly. His hands were slowly gliding up her thighs, but to her surprise they entirely bypassed the part of her that burned for him. Instead they slid over her hip bones and stomach, his fingers spreading over her curves, smoothing over shoulders and arms and fingers before reversing direction, attentively mapping the entire length of her body right down to her ankles and feet.

With a soft sigh, Elanor closed her eyes and relaxed; the lulling seductiveness of his caress was incredibly pleasurable. Indeed it was so soothing that her self-consciousness floated away on a tranquil sea of sensuality that seemed without end . . . until at last she felt the skim of his fingers in that place where she so longed to be touched.

Elanor's eyes shot open as new sensations took hold. She had not forgotten how he had done this before, how he had known unerringly what to do. This time was no different, except that his fingers seemed to be dipping deeper, so deep she actually felt discomfort, yet he never allowed the discomfort to last for more than a few seconds at a stretch. And all the while his thumb circled her feminine center, continuously teasing, occasionally stroking, while she trembled and clutched at the folds of the sheets, her breath coming in uneven gasps. Her eyelids drifted downward. She did not know quite what to do with her hands, but, oh my, he knew exactly what to do with his. It was exquisite, a slow-building pleasure that was fast turning into a searing torment. Any moment now . . . any moment would surely be the one she had been waiting for, the one in which he would join his body with hers . . .

At long last she felt his body shift, but not into the position she was anticipating. Instead, she nearly jumped out of her skin when she felt the touch of his lips in a most unexpected and intimate place. "W-what are you doing?" she stammered, looking down at him with mixed emotions. Rúmil hadn't told her about this!

His eyes met hers. "I am loving you, Elanor. Relax. Trust me."

Elanor gulped air as he proceeded to do far more than kiss, gently and carefully stimulating her in a way she had never dreamed possible. Furthermore, he seemed to be enjoying it . . . this was her last coherent thought for some time as the fire inside her bloomed bright, climbing higher and closer to the shattering conclusion for which she yearned. "Haldir," she panted, her voice ragged, "please . . . I cannot . . . this is . . . oh my . . ."

And then, dimly, a sound penetrated her consciousness. A knock.

A knock on the outer door of the talan. "Haldir!" a distant voice called. She felt Haldir freeze. The exterior door rattled, as though someone was trying to enter.

Haldir lifted his head. She saw her own disbelief reflected in his eyes.

"Haldir!" More pounding on the door. "Haldir, I know you're in there. Open the door, will you? It is important!" Orophin's voice.

Haldir leaped from the bed and snatched up his leggings. "Excuse me, Elanor. I will return in a moment . . . after I murder my brother."

Trembling with need, Elanor watched him stalk from the room and close the door behind him while she pressed her thighs together and bit her lip, hoping he would hurry. She could hear his voice, low and brusque, demanding to know what in the name of Morgoth's balls Orophin wanted, but she could not hear Orophin's reply. Whatever words the brothers exchanged were spoken in an undertone, and then the outer door opened and closed again.

Haldir returned, his face a study of acute vexation and extreme displeasure. "Elanor, I regret to say I must go out. It is not Orophin but Rúmil I am going to kill. It seems my youngest brother has gotten himself so drunk that he is sprawled on top of a certain maiden's talan, bellowing some of those highly improper songs I mentioned earlier."

Elanor sat up, clutching the sheet to her chest. "Must you go? Why can't Orophin attend to it?"

"Because Galadriel bade him to fetch me. Apparently she feels it is my duty to drag my deranged brother off the roof and curtail his activities. I should not be long. It will take me only a moment to string him up by his privates." He pulled his under-tunic over his head. "Rest while I am gone. Try to sleep."

"I am not going to sleep, Haldir," she said in frustration. "How can you even suggest such a thing? Have you forgotten what we were doing?"

He came over to the bed and cupped her chin. "I know, my love, and I am sorry. Wait for me," he added firmly, and bent to place a swift kiss on her mouth.

"Of course I will wait," she began, then realized what he meant and blushed. "Of course," she repeated again, and saw his slight smile. "But I shall not sleep."

His smile faded. "Oh, yes, you will." And before she could stop him, he cast a sleeping spell on her. She felt herself spinning off into darkness before she could lift a hand to smack him. And then she suddenly realized he had called her his love . . .

x

"But what exactly did you say to him?" Tarwë sounded perplexed. "He has never done anything like this before."

With a shake of her head, Nerwen drew further back into the shadows of the mallorn, her gaze aimed at the roof of her own talan across the way. "I told you. I said I could not keep his gift, and I told him why. I made it clear that I understood what it is he wants from me, that he was not fooling me." The thought caused her intense pain, a pain that had haunted her for years. Her secret pain, she called it. She had never told anyone except Tarwë, who understood because she also suffered, though for a different reason. Their shared travails had drawn them together into close friendship.

Tarwë's gaze was also riveted on what little they could see of Rúmil, as were the gazes of several dozen others. "That song is appalling. At least he has a pleasant voice, but I truly think he is so drunk he does not realize everyone can hear."

"Including the Lord and Lady," Nerwen agreed with asperity. "He does not care. He only wants to shame me." She did not really believe this, but at the moment her anger was so fierce that if she could have reached Rúmil, she would have slapped him good and hard. "That is why he chose my roof," she added, "so others will think I had something to do with him being in this disgraceful state. After this night, I will never be able to look the Lady of Light in the face again."

"I doubt the Lord and Lady are going to blame you," Tarwë soothed. "In fact, I thought Lord Celeborn looked quite amused. His lips were definitely twitching when I saw him. And I do wish you had seen the look he exchanged with Galadriel. She did not smile, but all the same I swear there was a twinkle in her eyes. In any case, she has sent for Haldir, so that should take care of it."

"I would hate to be in Rúmil's shoes when he shows up," Nerwen muttered, then winced as Rúmil embarked on a new song, one that involved himself and multiple cavorting and very lusty maidens. "Reprehensible," she muttered. "He will never grow up. Never." She was glad that Celeborn and Galadriel has gone back to their talan.

Tarwë slipped a comforting arm around Nerwen's shoulders. "Come now, would you have him any other way? I know your feelings. Is it not his sense of fun and his talent to inspire laughter and good cheer that draws you to him?"

"In part, yes. But I want an elf who can be serious too. I want someone who . . ." Nerwen let her voice drift off. There was no point in saying this again. She and Tarwë had had this conversation many times, and it never solved or changed anything. Rúmil was as he was, and she had to accept that.

"He is an able warrior," Tarwë reminded her for perhaps the hundredth time. "He must be serious at times. I am sure he is not telling jokes while on the battlefield."

Nerwen shivered at the thought of Rúmil, _her_ Rúmil, being in the midst of a fearsome battle. She could not imagine it, and did not want to imagine it. She also knew Tarwë spoke with wisdom and that there had to be another side to Rúmil if only he would let her see it. "Do you think I should be doing something about this?" she finally asked.

"What could you do? Climb up on the roof with him?" Tarwë squeezed her shoulder. "Haldir and Orophin will take care of it. Look, here they are now."

Nerwen turned her head and saw Haldir stalking along a nearby walkway in their direction. His hair lacked its usual braids, he was not fully dressed, and his dangerous expression did not bode well for his youngest brother. "Oh dear," she said without thinking. She ignored the quizzical look Tarwë gave her.

As Rúmil's brother, the March Warden had always interested her; she found him attractive and had been known to admire his physique when he was not looking her way. However, she had never shared his bed, partly because she had never been asked, and partly because he was Rúmil's brother and to her that made a difference. He was also known as a stern disciplinarian and, remembering this, she almost feared for Rúmil before she reminded herself how deserving he was of Haldir's wrath. Then a new concern struck her. Would Haldir banish Rúmil to the fences for a great stretch of time? She twisted her fingers together and told herself she was a fool to care.

"It will be over soon," Tarwë said quietly.

Rúmil's voice wafted loudly into the heights of the trees while his two brothers quickly climbed up to join him. An instant later Rúmil fell silent, but Nerwen could not tell if he had passed out or whether Haldir had cast a spell on him. Most likely the latter. Nerwen held her breath while the two brothers lowered Rúmil's limp form from the roof to the platform below. Then Haldir hoisted Rúmil over his shoulder while Orophin turned and bowed to the elves who had gathered to watch. "He's had a bit too much wine," he said tactfully. "Our apologies to you all." And the two of them walked away, just like that.

Nerwen fought an urge to run after them and beg Haldir not to punish Rúmil too harshly.

"Are you going after them?" Tarwë asked.

"I will not," Nerwen said, and bit her lip. "No, I shall not." She took a step forward. "I should not," she added waveringly.

"Hurry," Tarwë said softly.

Nerwen nodded, grateful for Tarwë's unflagging support and understanding. Careful to stay in the shadows, she hastened after the three brothers, not knowing what she would say or do, only knowing she needed to take some action or regret it later. After all, this concerned her as much as anyone else. In a manner of speaking, Rúmil was hers . . . though no one else knew it. Not even Rúmil.

x

Haldir knew they were being followed, though he did not bother to look around to learn which elleth trailed their steps. At the moment he did not care. He was impatient to get back to Elanor and was in no mood to give this mysterious elleth much attention. Rúmil always had maidens mooning and fluttering around him; no doubt it was one of those, someone eager to minister to his darling brother with tender hands and eager lips. Not that she would get very far tonight, he thought sardonically.

Orophin preceded him and opened the door to Rúmil's talan so Haldir could take him straight inside. Still very annoyed, Haldir dumped his brother unceremoniously on his bed and began to walk away.

"Should we not undress him?" Orophin inquired. "Or at least take off his boots?"

"You may do so if you like," Haldir said curtly. "I am leaving." He began to walk toward the door.

"Haldir, what is wrong?"

Haldir swiveled around. "Nothing is wrong, other than my extreme displeasure at our brother's conduct. Is that not a sufficient explanation?"

Orophin waved a hand. "He is unhappy about something, and I think I know what it is, but you . . . you seem on edge." His shrewd blue eyes were curious. "Is something amiss with Elanor?"

"No. Why would you think that?" Haldir asked warily.

"Well . . ." Orophin cocked an eyebrow. "You came back from the fences because of her, did you not? You spent the entire afternoon together, did you not? And now, this evening, you seem unusually out of sorts. So I am wondering why."

"I am not out of sorts," Haldir countered. "And if I were, the reason would be none of your concern." Seeing the look on Orophin's face, he relented. "Forgive me, Orophin. I am not out of sorts. As for Elanor, she is sleeping right now. She is tired and so am I."

Orophin seemed willing to accept this. "Where were you all afternoon?" he asked with a smile.

Haldir hesitated, but could see no reason to withhold the information. "I took her to see the ninniach-loth."

"Ah. I imagine she liked that." To Haldir's relief, Orophin seemed ready to change the subject, for he glanced briefly at Rúmil's recumbent body, then angled his head toward the door of the talan. "One of us should speak to her," he said in an undertone.

"Who is it?" Haldir asked, without much interest.

Orophin came close, and whispered, "I am guessing it is Nerwen. I believe she is the indirect cause of our brother's exhibition this evening, but it is only a theory. It was her roof he was on and I've noticed things . . ." He made a vague gesture.

"Are you implying this is some kind of lovers' quarrel?" Haldir grimaced at the idea of being dragged into one of Rúmil's affairs of the heart. On the other hand, he now recalled that Rúmil had expressed a desire to woo . . . someone. But was this the maiden in question? And was this what he called wooing?

"Go talk to her, Haldir. Find out what you can."

"Why me?"

Orophin kept his voice low. "Because, dear brother, Elanor is sleeping . . . and Doria is not. This all came at a most inconvenient moment for us, if you understand my meaning."

Haldir understood all too well and had very little sympathy, but he bit back the sarcastic retort he longed to make. "Very well, I will talk to her," he said resignedly.

He found Nerwen standing in the shadows not far from Rúmil's door. She looked the way she normally did, tall and pretty and rather regal, yet when their gazes met, he thought she seemed nervous. "Nerwen," he said, "on behalf of my brother, I wish to apologize for what happened tonight. I am sure Rúmil will be making his own apology tomorrow."

"Thank you." She stepped forward, her eyes fastened on his. "I am sure you are wondering why he chose my roof."

"On the contrary, where Rúmil is concerned, I do not look for logic."

"True enough," she agreed, sounding a little bitter.

He studied her more closely, and thought he saw deep sadness lurking in her eyes. "Has Rúmil injured you in some way, Nerwen?"

"No," she said, with a vigorous shake of her head. "No, we are friends, he and I. That is why I am here. I thought perhaps you might discipline him in some way." When Haldir did not speak, she added, "I thought you might decide to send him to the fences."

"The thought occurred to me," Haldir acknowledged. "It is his turn to go. As a warden of Lórien, he has a duty to perform. It is not a punishment but an obligation, one he chose willingly."

Nerwen's eyes were wide. "Yes, of course, I understand that. But . . . you won't send him away for very long, will you? Not because of his singing, I mean?"

Haldir fought back a smile. "Such as ten years, you mean? Or perhaps fifty?"

"He did not hurt my roof. And no one was truly all that shocked." She twisted her fingers together in front of her. "I mean, everyone knows what Rúmil is like. What he did was not so very bad. I am sure we have all heard such songs before."

"Rúmil will serve his time at the fences just like all the wardens do. But no, Nerwen, I will not send my brother away for longer than usual. He will have you to thank for that. Shall I tell him so?"

She looked alarmed. "No! Oh, no, please do not tell him I was here! He will attach a meaning to it that I do not intend. We are no more than friends, and . . ." She straightened her shoulders. "And that is all."

Haldir nodded, wishing he knew what to say. "I admit Orophin and I did not do much to make him comfortable. We are both annoyed with him. Perhaps, as a friend, you might like to look in on him before you go. He will never know you were there."

"Perhaps I will." She bit her lip. "You do not object?"

"It is not my place to object," Haldir said. He turned to go, and saw her edge toward Rúmil's talan from the corner of his eye. Nerwen was a fair and lovely elleth, one he had always liked well enough, though he had never been motivated to pursue her. Possibly her interest in Rúmil accounted for it; sometimes one simply sensed these things. He only hoped Rúmil did not break her heart, for it was obvious she cared for him. Perhaps he should break his brother's head and put some sense in it.

With swift steps, Haldir headed back to his talan, both Nerwen and Rúmil vanishing from his mind as his thoughts winged back to Elanor.

He halted the moment he saw her, deep in reverie with the sheet only half draped over her, beautiful as a dream in the lantern's soft glow. Did she truly grow more beautiful each day? He drank in the sight with hungry eyes, filled with blood-pounding impatience to take her into his arms and begin anew.

Quickly and quietly, he stripped off his clothes and moved toward the bed, but then, as he gazed down at her, he found himself hesitating. She _had_ been tired, even if she'd been unwilling to admit it, and he wanted her to be fully awake and alert when he made love to her the first time. He had thought about it so often, on so many nights, envisioning how it would be. He knew what he wanted.

Feeling torn, he settled himself next to her and breathed in her scent, admiring the way the dark cloud of her hair spread out across the pillow. He loved her hair, just as he loved everything else about her. She was so beautiful to him, so amazing really. She even laughed at his jokes. That was the most amazing thing of all.

He reached out and touched her cheek, gently, so she would not wake. How soft her skin was, so perfect and pale that she almost seemed to glow. He let his eyes glide downward to her naked breasts. They were perfect too, shapely and full, with eager, rosy nipples that fairly begged to be suckled. And that delicious feminine area between her thighs, the melting sweetness he had found there . . . he swallowed hard, recalling the ecstatic little sounds she had made while he tasted and teased her with all his considerable long-acquired skill. The memory of her moans and whimpers was almost his undoing; it took every particle of his self-control not to reach out and wake her up.

Instead he carefully shifted the sheet so that he could see the rest of her, which he realized at once was a mistake. His member throbbed almost unbearably, an ache that was too familiar, and he released a groan of frustration. He was tempted to relieve his torment with his hand so he could get some rest of his own . . . but he would not. Instead, he would lie here and watch her sleep. It did not matter that he wanted her now, or that he burned for her in a way that he had never burned for anyone. There would be time enough for lovemaking in the morning. She was tired and he could wait. It was the best and wisest decision.

Of course, he knew that she might not agree. He pulled the sheet over them both, correcting the thought even as it went through his head. She would definitely not agree, but he was used to making difficult decisions and she was not.

He only hoped she would not be too annoyed with him.

x

Elanor awoke at the first light of dawn during that quiet period just before the birds begin to sing. She lay on her side, blinking in confusion at the sight of Haldir lying next to her, naked and deep in reverie. Then the memories came flooding back. All of them.

"Haldir!" she said furiously. She rammed her fingers hard into his ribs. "Wake up!"

He caught hold of her wrist before she could jab him again. "I am awake, Elanor." He did not look pleased at the manner of his waking.

Heedless of her nudity, Elanor sat up and glared at him. "How dare you leave me to sleep!" She tried to yank her arm away, but he held tight to it.

"You needed your rest," he said evenly.

"You said you would return right away!"

"And I did," he said, his grey eyes scanning her face. "Calm down, Elanor. I am in no mood to be berated."

"You made me go to sleep," she accused.

"I did. You needed it." He drew her down beside him.

"I did not want to sleep! I wanted—"

His mouth stopped her words. The kiss was long, deep, and ardent enough to drive away her indignation. When at last it ended, he said, "I know what you wanted." His eyes danced with playfulness as he raised himself up on one elbow. "And I am going to give it to you this morning. Several times, I hope."

Her heart did a sideways flip. "You should have woken me," she reiterated, pouting a little. Still, the promise in his eyes mollified and excited her. "You cannot imagine the dreams I was having."

"Oh, can I not?" he said silkily. "I was having an interesting dream of my own just now . . . until those bony fingers of yours brought an untimely end to it." He brought his mouth close to her ear. "Shall I tell you about it? Or would you like me to demonstrate?"

Elanor smiled and curled her arm around his neck. "Which would you prefer?"

"I would prefer to show you." He slid his hand over the curve of her hip, across her belly and downward, his fingers boldly slipping between her thighs to delve into the delicate and intimate folds of her flesh. She gasped when he slid a finger inside her; already, she trembled with desire for him. How did it happen so quickly, with the briefest touch of his hand?

"Why, Elanor, you are already wet," he said provocatively. "I think I'd like to hear about this dream of yours."

"You first," she said, trying to wriggle against his hand, but he had other ideas and shifted his fingers just enough to foil her.

His tongue stroked hotly along the curve of her throat. "In my dream, this is what I was doing. Kissing you. Your mouth. Your breasts. And down here." His thumb stroked across her aching pleasure spot. "Well, I should not call it kissing. Sucking, perhaps. Licking. Tasting. And you liked it."

She drew a shuddering breath. "And in my dream, Haldir, I was also kissing you. This part of you." Reaching down, she discovered he was as rock solid as he had been last night. "Would you . . ." She paused, feeling shy and awkward. "Would you like it if I did that? Kissed you down there, I mean?"

The hand between her legs went still. "Would _you_?" he said, watching her keenly.

Her heart began to beat double-time. "Yes, but I've never done it before so . . . I do not know if . . ." She could feel the warmth creeping into her cheeks. "I am afraid I will not be able to please you very much, but I can try."

"Oh, Elanor." He lay back casually and looked at her, a compelling glint in his eye. "Any effort you would like to make in that regard would please me very much."

A delightful shiver of wanting ran through her. She did want to touch him. She truly wanted to do this and it surprised her. "Did you lock the door?" she asked anxiously.

A lazy smile tugged at his lips. "The door is locked and barricaded. And if anyone knocks, we are going to ignore them."

"Oh, good." Elanor shifted around until she knelt between his long legs, then glanced up to see him watching her. "Do not worry. I will be careful with my teeth."

"Thank you, Elanor." His voice was deceptively meek.

"At least I will try to be," she explained. "But if I hurt you, please tell me."

"You will be the first to hear about it, I promise."

"Perhaps you had better close your eyes," she added. "You are making me nervous."

"Take your time," he said helpfully. "And, Elanor, if you would rather not . . ."

"No, I want to. Just lie still please."

"That may be harder than you think. Of course, _I_ may be harder than you think."

Elanor giggled. Suddenly, she did not feel shy at all. This was normal and natural, and she was not with a stranger. She was with Haldir, an elf she loved for so many reasons, an elf with such nobility, integrity and steadfastness of character that he would deny himself so that she might rest. And no matter how long they were together, no matter how long she was his lover, she knew she would never regret this moment. She only wanted to give him pleasure and make him happy.

"Oh, Haldir, forgive me," she said humbly.

"For what, Elanor?" He sounded perplexed.

"For being foolish. For waking you up so rudely. For not understanding that you were right and I was wrong." Her eyes were moist. "For putting my welfare before yours."

"There is nothing to forgive," he said gently. He reached for her hand and held it for a moment, his thumb making tiny circles that spoke of reassurance. "Touch me," he whispered. "Please."

"I will. And you do not have to close your eyes unless you want to," she added, and saw him give a faint smile.

She began slowly, trailing her hands along his legs and over his knees, delighting in the lean muscularity and inherent power that was so much a part of him. How wonderful it was to be allowed to do this, to trace the ridges of muscle and sinew, to skim her hands over his chest and taut lower abdomen without risking rebuke. The warmth and firmness of his flesh fascinated her, the unyielding masculine contours so different from her own. And his thighs . . . for some reason she wanted to kiss them and finally she did so, wantonly rubbing her cheek against his skin and pressing her lips here and there, gradually working her way ever closer to her goal while he waited, his breathing noticeably uneven.

Eventually he began to shift with impatience, tiny movements telling her clearly that he had reached the limits of his endurance. Too many times had she circled and grazed him, but now she took hold of him, her hands encasing his heat while her fingertips explored the silken exterior flesh that housed his rigid member, which seemed in perfect proportion to his powerful physique, befitting one of his solidity and vigor. Enjoying the feel of him, she enclosed him tightly and gave him several long strokes before she found the courage to bend down and give him an open-mouthed kiss. He twitched in response, which seemed like encouragement, but he said nothing and so she decided to be bolder . . .

As the minutes passed, she began to feel she was acquiring an understanding of what gave him the most pleasure. Certain actions made his breathing go ragged, others made him inhale deeply or utter a low moan, and those were the actions she repeated, slowly gaining confidence and, she hoped, proficiency.

"Enough," he said, so abruptly it startled her.

She lifted her head, but before she could ask what was wrong, he took her by the underarms and drew her forward, positioning her with her knees on either side of his hips and her hands on the bed by his shoulders. Her hair fell around them like a dark veil, and he gently gathered it up and moved it aside so that it streamed down her back.

"Come closer," he said, guiding her into a pose that brought her chest near his mouth. Realizing what he wanted, Elanor abandoned self-consciousness and leaned down to give him better access. Exquisite sensations burned through her as he held her breasts and suckled her, his mouth alternating between breasts while his fingers rolled and rubbed whichever nipple was free at the time. Then he slipped one hand between her thighs and within moments the world began to spin away . . .

Distantly, she heard him say something. "What?" she panted. She opened her eyes and looked at him in confusion.

"Never mind." He laughed softly. "I have my answer."

Without another word, he rolled her onto her back almost roughly, and planted himself between her legs. The solid weight of his body pressed her down, but he made no move to do what she thought he would do.

His lips brushed hers. "Elanor, I want to complete your pleasure before I cause you pain. I do not know how much it will hurt. It could take away your pleasure completely."

"Oh." She gazed up into his grey eyes, her heart thundering with anticipation. She lifted her hand to his cheek. "I trust you, dear Haldir. I leave the choice to you."

"Good." His hand slid downward, and for a few moments he stroked her deftly, invoking more fiery sensations that shimmered through her like glowing sparks. So close she was to exploding, yet he did not take her there. Instead, he shifted downward, his knees in the vicinity of her calves, his body braced so there was a space between them. She did not quite understand, but she said nothing, only parted her thighs willingly while he positioned himself over her. At this point she looked down the length of their bodies, at the full size of his sex poised at her opening, and felt a sudden wave of concern. She glanced up quickly, and saw him watching her.

"Do not worry," he said huskily. He bent to kiss the base of her throat, and then her lips. "Just relax and let me do the work."

She nodded, swallowing hard as he began to press into her. At once she was surprised by the amount of discomfort that fought against the aching pressure of her desperate need. Before she could get used to it, he withdrew, then pressed in again, only the smallest distance, much less than she expected. Her concern increased.

"Is it not working?" she asked, clutching hard at his elbows.

He looked down at her with a mixture of humor and tenderness. "It is working very well. Lift your knees higher."

Elanor obeyed, and this time when he performed the movement she felt it, the wonderful hot bloom that had been smoldering since last night. He was stoking it with his movements, which were shallow, yet amazingly effective. Over and over he repeated it, his face set with determination, beads of perspiration upon his brow that spoke of self-restraint. Hazily, she realized he was holding back, but she could only pant and cling to him, seeking her own release, straining toward it with growing fervor while he continued his shallow, tantalizing thrusts.

"Please," she heard herself whimper. "Please oh please oh please oh please . . ."

And then she felt it, a roaring wave of pure sensation pouring over her, almost unbearable in intensity and boundless in its reach. She cried out, an ecstatic sound that made no sense, yet contained Haldir's name embedded somewhere in the heart of it. It went on longer than she expected, a lengthy ripple of pleasure more potent than she had ever felt. When at last she recovered enough to open her eyes, she looked up and saw him watching her, his face wearing an expression of pure triumph.

"Yes?" he said, his eyes twinkling. "You liked that?"

"Oh, it was wonderful." She smiled dreamily. "I made a lot of noise."

"Delicious, beautiful noise. And now it is my turn."

"Yes." She gripped his arms. "I am ready for you."

He bent down and gave her one more kiss, and then renewed his movements, each time sliding a little deeper until he hit her barrier. It was far more uncomfortable than she had anticipated, but she tried to conceal this from him, and instead concentrated on how magnificent he looked, and how astounding it was that she was with him. It spun through her head how she had once thought of him as a star too bright for her to touch. And now, here they were, doing this. How incredible that it should even be happening at all . . .

His thrusts were harder now, increasing in force and rapidity. She sensed that he was trying to be gentle, but there was no way around the fact that this was hurting. And then came piercing pain. Elanor squealed, every muscle in her body going tense.

Haldir went still. "Courage, dear love. The worst is over now."

"I am fine," she gasped, still trembling with shock. "It was not too terrible." She smiled shakily. "But it did feel rather like a sword."

His mouth slanted into an apologetic smile. "I regret that. But I have good news for you. My sword fits perfectly in its new sheath. You were worried about that, I could tell."

"I was not," she lied.

"Yes, you were. I should add that my sword is extremely happy. It has ventured into darkness and battered down nature's barrier. And now, my Elanor, it feels very much at home."

"I hope not so at home that it thinks it can relax."

"Why, Elanor, I do believe you have acquired the knack of making naughty jokes."

"I think perhaps I have." She brushed her hands across the broad expanse of his chest and drew a deep breath.

The easy jests had helped. She could feel the tension easing from her body, allowing her to relax and accept the unfamiliar fullness of his presence deep within her. Once again he had demonstrated his wisdom in choosing this place and time for their experience. Somehow he always knew what was best for her.

His mouth still curved, but his eyes were beginning to look a bit unfocused. "My sword is still scouting the area, getting acquainted with the layout . . . in high spirits and very eager to continue . . ." His words drifted off as though he forgot what he was saying. Then he seemed to collect himself enough to say in a strained voice, "Can you bear it if I move now?"

"Yes," she whispered. "I am fine. Seek your pleasure, dear heart." The last two words slipped out by accident, but he seemed not to notice.

His thrusts resumed, long strokes of unleashed sexual power, and with each, Elanor's body gradually adapted to the invasion. It still hurt, but the pain was less, supplanted by burgeoning pleasure. She was starting to rise up to meet him, to angle her body ever so slightly in order to increase her own gratification. Her legs hugged his hips, her heels snug against his buttocks, and she dug them in, encouraging him without words to drive as deeply as he wished.

Suspended above her, the muscles in his chest and arms taut, he looked like a glorious dream warrior, or a pale silver lover from some ancient age. But he was no dream; he was as real and solid as she was, and he was breathing hard and loudly.

He was on fire just as she had been on fire.

With deep satisfaction, she realized he had finally lost control. His face was contorted, his eyes half closed, and the sounds vibrating in his throat were almost savage, governed by primal instinct and desire. He was shaking too. Shaking as he surged into her again and again with a force and urgency that might have alarmed her if she had not trusted him so completely.

"Elanor," he gasped out suddenly. He arched his head, his entire body convulsed with shudders that made him appear to be in anguish. A moment later he collapsed on top of her, trembles still shuddering through him while he gulped air. "Oh, Elanor," he murmured. His hands went to her hair, his fingers sinking into it and holding tightly while she patted soothingly at his shoulder blades, now covered in gooseflesh.

She continued to smooth her hands over his back while he lay on top of her, apparently recovering. "Was it very nice?" she said softly.

He lifted his head and kissed her brow. "It was better than nice. I have no words to describe how nice it was."

She considered this, and wriggled a little. "Nice enough to do again?"

"Right away?" He lifted a brow. "Ah, I see. You require more attention than my noble sword could offer."

Elanor blushed and smiled sheepishly.

"Give me a moment. Right now my sword is limping and covered in blood."

"What?" Elanor's eyes widened. "You are hurt?"

"It is your blood, not mine," he explained, his tone very gentle.

Elanor relaxed, feeling foolish. "Oh. Well, you said you were limping."

"Limp is a better word, though I prefer not to use it. Haldir's little sword wants to take a nap before it embarks on further adventures."

"Not so little even now," she corrected.

"Shrinking quickly," he said with a laugh. He rolled off her and sat up, then drew her into a sitting position. It was then that Elanor saw the blood, far more of it than she expected. It covered her thighs as well as parts of him, mingling with that other milky substance that came from his body. Then, for the first time, she noticed the rectangular cloth that had been under them.

"You will observe no blood on the sheets," Haldir said smugly. "That is because Haldir planned ahead while his lady was sleeping. He did not wish the nice elleth who does his laundry to be angry with him."

Elanor laughed, but before she could come up with a reply, he picked her up and headed toward the bathing chamber. "Now what?" she asked, curling into his chest.

"Now we are going to take a bath together. I am going to wash you with excessive thoroughness and attention to detail. You can wash me too, if you like."

"Oh really? And what makes you think we can both fit in there at the same time?"

He glanced down with a quirky smile. "I know a way, Elanor. Trust me."

x

As dawn's early light crept into the room, Galadriel eased away from Celeborn's protective embrace and rose quietly from their bed. Last night they had made passionate love, and afterward she had lain beside him for hours, listening to his even breathing, a comforting sound she so often took for granted. How she adored him, even after these many long years of marriage. Smiling affectionately, she slid on a long robe, covering the gossamer nightgown beneath, and took one last glance at her lover before leaving the talan, her bare feet silent on the smooth wooden path.

It took only a few minutes to reach the ground. The city glittered in the rays of early morning sunlight, its beams filtering through the leafy canopy, gilded bands that chased away the lingering shadows of the night. Birds twittered happily around her, greeting her with melodic calls and warbles. She smiled, yet the smile soon faded as she hurried along the path. Something called to her, beckoning within her mind, drawing her along the leaf-strewn path with haste. Her mirror called, a rare occurrence indeed, and Galadriel knew she must answer.

She descended the well-worn stone steps leading to her bower, her thoughts uneasy. How many times had she entered this sanctuary not knowing whether she would find comfort or dismay? How many times had she looked into her mirror searching for answers and found only riddles? Or no answers at all?

Too often.

She dipped her silver ewer into the stream, then carried it to the basin and poured, waiting patiently for the crystal clear water to settle before breathing her magic upon it. At first the surface was dark and still, then something flickered.

As in that other vision, she saw her husband, but this time she could see someone behind him, off to the side. No, there were two others. Three in all, yet only Celeborn was recognizable, the others no more than shadows in the mist. He stood tall and straight, his hands folded behind his back, his silver hair hanging in a soft sheen as he gazed at something she could not see. He nodded as if someone spoke, then turned sharply to look over his shoulder, the blue depths of his eyes shadowed with concern. And then he reached out, a swift movement, but to what purpose she could not see.

The image faded.

Frustrated, Galadriel leaned forward, silently willing the vision to repeat itself, to give some hint of what it meant. The surface rippled slightly, revealing to her anxious eyes the city of the Galadhrim, looking peaceful and serene. Another shift, and once again Celeborn came into view. This time she saw his fear, but also strong determination. Again he reached out, so very quickly. And this time she saw another image, one filled with many hands . . . and then the mirror went suddenly and frighteningly blank.

Galadriel held her breath and waited, but only her own reflection gazed back. Slowly, she turned away, Celeborn's image lingering in her mind. The mirror had tried to give an answer. Hands reaching out. Many hands. What did it mean? Was it symbolic or literal?

And what was she supposed to do?

tbc


	22. Chapter TwentyTwo

**Chapter Twenty-Two**

Feeling blissfully serene, Elanor lounged in the bath water between Haldir's thighs, her back against his chest while his arms cradled her around the middle. He had done exactly what he said he would do; he had washed her most thoroughly, his magical hands lavishing attention on every part of her body, although in the end he had spent far more time on some areas than he had on others.

"It does not seem fair," she said reflectively.

"What does not seem fair?" Haldir rubbed the side of his jaw against her hair; she could hear the smile in his voice.

She turned her head so she could see the faint curve of his lips. "You know very well what I mean."

"Yes, I do. But why does it trouble you?"

"I am not troubled. I just do not want to be selfish."

"You are not selfish. I simply require more recovery time than you do, and I see no reason not to pleasure you in the meanwhile. I enjoy touching you." He kissed her neck. "And I like hearing all those sweet whimpers you make."

"I feel self-conscious afterward," she said with a blush.

"But not during." He laughed softly and nipped the rim of her ear. "I told you I knew what I was doing."

Elanor shivered. "Do you have any idea how smug you sound? But I still feel that it ought to be more balanced. Are you sure it is not . . . my fault? Please tell me if I am doing something wrong." She tried to sound matter-of-fact rather than uneasy.

He skimmed his fingers along her collarbone. "I am perfectly capable of catching up with you, Elanor, and you are not doing anything wrong. As long as you do not sink your teeth into me, you can do very little I will not like. "

That thought put another into her head, one she had been meaning to ask. "As to that, how did I . . . I mean, when I did what I did, you seemed to be liking it, and then you stopped me so suddenly, and I thought . . ." She bit her lip.

Haldir pressed a light kiss to her cheek. "Elanor, you did nothing wrong. I stopped you because I was about to explode and I wanted to be inside you when it happened."

"So what I did . . . it was . . . satisfactory?"

"It was exquisite." His exhaled breath ruffled her hair. "However, if it will relieve your anxiety, I will gladly give you more opportunities to practice."

Elanor laughed. "I suppose you must be sincere, else you would not let me near you. Rúmil said you would—" She stopped, ready to bite off her tongue.

Haldir shifted his body, his head angled so he could see her face. "Rúmil said I would . . . what?"

"Never mind," she answered. "I think it is time we dried off and had breakfast. Your stomach is rumbling." She tried to rise, but his steel-like arms prevented her.

"Rúmil said I would what?" he repeated inexorably.

She shook her head. "I would rather not tell you."

"Elanor, did Rúmil say something inappropriate to you?"

"Of course not. It was entirely appropriate given the . . . the unique circumstances." Again, she tried to sit up, and again he did not allow it.

"Tell me." It was quietly spoken and yet a command. "What circumstances?"

"I will tell you nothing if you are going to start being a bully again!" she said with asperity.

"I am not being a bully, Elanor. I am your lover as well as your guardian. Between the two, I think it entitles me to know what we are talking about. Did my brother try to seduce you?"

"No!" Elanor half turned in his arms. "Rúmil would not do that. He was only answering my questions. Trying, at least. I asked him something that embarrassed him, that is all."

Haldir's grey eyes searched hers. "What did you ask him?" he inquired, his voice more mild than she expected or perhaps deserved.

Elanor squirmed inwardly. "Do you really have to know?"

"No, but I would like to know. Must it be a secret?"

"I suppose not," she sighed, "but you will laugh at me."

"I will not laugh."

She ducked her head so that her hair hid her face. "I asked him how to go about pleasing a male in the . . . in the physical sense." She cleared her throat, and realized she had better elaborate. "You, specifically . . . of course."

A long moment of stunned silence greeted her words. At last, Haldir said, "I'm trying to imagine this." Another pause. "What was his answer?"

Elanor covered her face with her hands, knowing her cheeks must be bright pink. "He told me he had no idea what you might like," she said in a muffled voice. "But he said most males enjoy . . . what I did. And he said I should be careful with my teeth. And then he blushed."

"Rúmil _blushed_?" Haldir's chest shook with silent amusement. "What I would have given to see that. Elanor, I have said before that you are incorrigible, and I say it again."

She peeked at him through her fingers. "You _are_ laughing."

"Not at you," he corrected. "Just at the idea of my brother wriggling in discomfort while my Elanor asks questions she should have saved for me."

Elanor lowered her hands, tingling with pleasure at being called 'my Elanor'. "Well, I suppose you are right. Now I feel very foolish. But I . . ." She stopped, afraid to say more.

"But what, Elanor?" Though his voice was calm, she could hear the underlying forcefulness of the question. He wanted to know why she would do such a thing, and she had to admit that it did seem odd and outrageous.

"It's just that I wanted to be able to give you pleasure," she admitted in a very low voice. "And I was so afraid I would not."

His eyes met hers. "Well, you did." Several seconds slipped by, and then he reached for the soap and held it out to her. "Wash me, Elanor."

It was hardly a request, but she decided there was no logical reason for protest. Why should she, when it was exactly what she wished to do?

Wriggling around to face him, she wrapped her legs around his hips and began to lather his chest. Haldir would always be himself, slightly arrogant and domineering, even overbearing at times. But the truth was that she did not mind all that much because he had shown her another side of him that was just as real, a tender and loving side she sensed was just for her and her alone.

"Is this to milord's liking?" she inquired, sweeping her hand across his stomach.

Haldir closed his eyes, a slight smile on his lips. "Lower," he said. "Cheeky elleth."

x

Nerwen was still simmering, although the strength of her fury toward Rúmil was starting to diminish. Deep in her heart, she had always believed he would not wish to cause her true distress, but now that he had chosen her roof to sit on while he sang his bawdy songs, she felt he had made what was private between them a matter for public speculation. And that distressed her most profoundly.

Still, she had cared for him last night while he slept. She had removed his boots and loosened his tunic to make him comfortable, and then tucked a blanket around him. And then she had allowed herself to touch his hair, to weave her fingers into its silken softness where it fanned upon the pillow. And through it all he had slept like an elfling, blissfully oblivious to her presence.

And now, in the grey light of early dawn, she sat alone in her talan, depressed and sad and wishing there was something she could change about this situation. The temptation to look in on him again was almost irresistible; after all, it was barely light out and he would never know. She could be sure he was still covered and comfortable. If perchance he awoke, she would give him a piece of her mind, and if he did not . . . she could just look at him, something she did not often allow herself to do.

The idea continued to tease Nerwen until at last she gave in to it and rose to her feet. Calling herself a fool, she tiptoed along the paths and stairways until she reached the door to Rúmil's talan and slipped quietly inside. Reaching his bedchamber, she stopped abruptly. Sometime during the night he had awakened long enough to remove every stitch of his clothing. Now he lay facedown, the blanket covering not very much of him at all. He would never know that she had seen him like this, so beautiful and ethereal and . . . naked. Nerwen shivered with involuntary delight and appreciation. How many times had she imagined him like this?

She debated whether to leave at once or not, but it seemed clear that he was deep in reverie. Feeling safe, she crept forward and retrieved the blanket, carefully arranging it over him while trying not to gaze at his long muscular back, powerful shoulders and lean buttocks. She tucked the blanket around him, then on impulse bent down and placed a light kiss on his brow.

Much to her consternation, Rúmil rolled over and smiled sleepily. "And who is this?" he murmured, his strong arm coiling around her waist. "It must be Elbereth herself who tends to me so sweetly." To Nerwen's astonishment, his hand slid down to give her rear a firm squeeze.

"How dare you!" Nerwen slapped him.

Rúmil jerked his hand away and gaped at her. "Nerwen!"

"Now you are going to pretend you did not know it was me?" she said scathingly. "Do you truly expect me to believe you would fondle the Vala Elbereth's backside?"

"Of course not! I knew it was you, but I was not so sure I was awake. I thought it was a very nice dream."

Nerwen sniffed, only partially mollified. "That is no excuse at all, Rúmil. I am still very angry with you."

Making no effort to keep the blanket over his chest, Rúmil stretched his arms over his head, then linked his fingers behind his neck. His blue eyes raked over her in an assessing manner. "I thought you were not speaking to me. Have you changed your mind?"

"No, I am not speaking to you! I am only . . ." She paused and bit her lip.

Looking determined, Rúmil began to sit up, and then a queer expression crossed his face and he fell back to the pillow with a groan. "Valar help me, I feel terrible."

"It serves you right," Nerwen said crossly. "Do you have any idea what you did last night?" She tried not to look at his bare chest.

"I drank too much," he said succinctly.

"That is the least of it," she told him in a waspish tone. "I suppose you do not remember."

"Oh?" His face stilled, his gaze intent upon hers. "Nerwen, did you and I . . .?"

"No!" Nerwen spun away from him, her cheeks aflame. "Of course not!" She paused. "I do not think of you like that," she lied.

"I see." His voice was quiet. "How do you think of me?"

"I think of you as a friend," she replied. "Or a . . . a younger brother in need of a great deal guidance. Certainly not as a . . . potential lover. The idea is absurd."

Rúmil swore softly and threw his arm across his eyes.

She rounded on him. "You should not say such things. After your behavior last night, I should not even speak to you at all."

"What did I do?" he asked dully. "I have no memory of it."

For a moment she felt a great surge of remorse, then her anger overtook her once more. "I suggest you ask one of your brothers for details. I will only say that you humiliated me in front of all Caras Galadhon and for that I will not easily forgive you." The moment these words were out of her mouth she regretted them. She was not an emotional elleth, but when emotion did take her, she almost always went too far. At present it was as though the Anduin itself had broken through some mighty wall to punish and pummel at her aching heart.

He removed his arm from his eyes and gazed up at her with such a pronounced lack of emotion that she knew he must be hiding a great hurt. "Whatever I did, Nerwen, I now deeply regret. I will inflict myself on you no longer. When Haldir returns to the border, I plan to go with him. I do not know how long it will be before we meet again, perhaps months or even longer. By then I hope you will have had second thoughts about forgiving me."

Nerwen clutched her hands together to keep from reaching for him. "Perhaps I will." She turned and walked toward the door, fighting an urge to run back to him, to fall to her knees and beg his forgiveness for being cruel to him, far more cruel than he deserved. Only her pride kept her from doing so. Instead, she forced herself to glance back as though she did not care. "Stay safe, Rúmil," she said, her voice as even as she could make it.

"I will endeavor to do so," he said coolly, "but I can promise nothing."

The moment she left his talan, she burst into tears.

x

"So where are we going?" Elanor asked as she pulled on her gown.

"You always have questions. Just for once, would you not like to be surprised?" Haldir secured the tie on his leggings and took a quick step forward, planting his bare foot on Elanor's pantelettes just as she reached for them. "You do not really want to wear those, do you?"

She glanced up at him. "Yes, I like them. You do not?"

"I like them very well when they are on the floor and not on you," he said amiably.

Elanor stifled an urge to giggle. "Many ellith wear them, Haldir."

"And many do not. You have not worn them all these weeks, so why start now?"

"You have a point, I suppose. But I find them comfortable."

"I find them inconvenient," he said dryly.

She gave him a sassy smile. "Perhaps that is a good thing. I should stop making things so easy for you."

He laughed. "Easy for me? Elanor, what will you say next? You have never made anything easy for me. Now be a good little elleth and go pack us a picnic lunch so we can spend a peaceful day in the woods."

"And if I do," she retorted, a slight edge to her voice, "milord will perhaps grace his good little elleth with more of his attentions?"

He'd been reaching into his wardrobe for a fresh tunic, but at this he paused and looked at her, a faint lift to one dark eyebrow. "Elanor, is there a problem? What are you saying?"

"It was what you said. You sounded like . . . you spoke to me as though . . ." She stopped and bit her lip, not wishing to ruin the moment. In any case, he was only jesting with her. "I'm sorry," she added, now feeling guilty. "You just reminded me of . . . the way things used to be. With my family and Lana. For a moment I felt . . . used. I was being oversensitive."

With a slight grimace, Haldir came over and slid his arms around her, his gaze linked with hers. "Forgive me, Elanor. I did not mean to offend. It has been so long since I tried to woo an elleth that I have forgotten how."

"Haldir, you are wooing me?" She gazed up into his calm grey eyes, her heart suddenly beating fast.

His thick lashes lowered while he contemplated his answer. "I believe I am," he said at last. "Does that alarm you?"

"Not at all," she answered, smiling a little. "I am honored. But perhaps I should not tell you that because you are arrogant enough already." Though she'd meant to tease him, his short sigh said that he took her seriously.

"Elanor, I . . ." He paused, as though at a loss for words. "I did not mean to be arrogant. I will try to do better."

She gave him a little hug. "And so shall I. I will try not to take offense or be too bold—"

"Oh, you can be as bold as you like," he interrupted, his mouth curving. "I like bold."

"Really?" She fluttered her lashes at him. "So you would not mind if I asked you to take me back to bed right now?"

He laughed outright and smacked her lightly on the rear. "I would not mind, but I would also say no."

"No?" She gave him an outraged look. "You just said—"

"I have other plans." He smiled lazily. "But do not worry because making love to you again is a very high priority." He leaned down and kissed her. "Later. Now please finish dressing and attend to that picnic basket."

Elanor sighed. "Very well, my dear guardian. I do not suppose you would like to help?"

"Not really. I'd like to nap while you see to it. I was the one who lay awake half the night, remember?"

"It was your own fault," she said tartly. "I have no sympathy for you at all."

He lifted a brow. "Not even a small amount? I was suffering, Elanor."

She leaned up and kissed his chin. "Poor Haldir, my heart weeps for you."

He stared down his nose at her in typical Haldir fashion. "And so it ought." Then his lips twitched, spoiling the effect. "Elanor?"

"Yes, Haldir?"

"Stop looking at me like that."

"How am I looking at you?" she inquired, trying not to giggle.

"As though you enjoy the idea of my suffering and are planning more of it."

"Wrong, guardian dear. I am planning quite the opposite . . . as long as I am not too weary from my kitchen work, of course."

"I believe I will help you with that picnic basket after all," he said smoothly. "I can always nap later."

x

Rúmil eased carefully into a sitting position and swung his legs over the side of the bed, despising himself even more than he had the day before. He still did not know what he had done to so upset Nerwen, but it was clear he had done something dreadful. He swiped his hands over his face, trying to think over the pounding in his head. At his age, he supposed he ought to know better than to drink quite so much, but last night he had not considered that. Now everything was worse, and the only thing he could think of to do about it was to remove himself from the city for as long as possible.

Long enough for Nerwen to forgive him, at least. Long enough for her to be able to look at him without loathing in her eyes. At the rate he was going, it would be centuries before he regained her trust and her friendship. Centuries of loneliness and frustration and self-denial . . .

A fresh surge of illness overtook him, nearly sending him to the floor. His head hung between his knees as he gasped for breath, trying to remember that in due course it always got better. Dimly, he heard familiar footsteps enter his talan.

"Not feeling too well this morning?" inquired a sympathetic voice.

"Orophin," Rúmil ground out, "what in Mordor did I do?"

Orophin walked over and placed his hand on Rúmil's brow. "You drank too much," he said curtly. Yet he took the time to cast a healing spell that removed the greater part of Rúmil's nausea, enabling him to sit up and open his eyes.

"That much I know." He sighed wretchedly.

Orophin sat down beside him on the bed. "You look awful."

"I feel worse."

Orophin shook his head, looking annoyingly healthy and slightly superior, as though _he_ had never overindulged in his life. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"No."

"You ought to talk."

"No, _you_ talk. Tell me what I did."

Orophin told him.

Rúmil's nausea returned. "Which songs did I sing?"

"All your favorites. Including the one about the three lusty ellith and the elf with the oversized—"

"No." Rúmil clutched at his head. "I would never sing that here in the city."

"But you did. And everyone heard." Orophin paused. "Including the Lord and Lady."

Rúmil's fingers dug into his skull almost painfully. "If that is true, then death in battle is my only means of redemption."

"Come now," Orophin said with a touch of humor in his voice. "I do not think it is as bad as that. Galadriel looked as though she was trying not to smile. And report has it that Celeborn was grinning as he led his lady back to their talan."

"Even so," Rúmil said glumly, "Nerwen is right. I am a disgrace unworthy of any elleth's regard."

"Nerwen said that?" Orophin seemed shocked.

Rúmil searched his memory in an attempt to be accurate. "No," he finally admitted. "But that's what she was thinking."

"So Nerwen is the one you have been pining for," Orophin said casually.

"I never said that," Rúmil mumbled. "She's just a friend. I pine for no one."

"Brother, you told me there was one you favored above all others. Last night you sat on Nerwen's roof. I have seen your eyes when you speak to her. It is obvious to me that you are head over heels in love with her."

Rúmil heaved a deep sigh and gave up his denials. "A lot of good it does me," he groused. "She wants nothing to do with me. She thinks of me as a little brother, even though I am far older than she is." That thought alone was humiliating.

"She told you that?" Orophin demanded. "I find that hard to believe."

"She said it. Just a few minutes ago, in fact."

He could feel Orophin's stare. "Nerwen was here? In your talan?"

"Yes." Rúmil lifted his head to challenge Orophin with a look. "What of it? She did not do anything wrong."

"I did not say she did. But I do hope you at least had the blanket over you."

Rúmil glanced down at his naked body. "Of course. Well, part of me. Actually, I think she covered me when she came in. I'm not too clear on that. What does it matter? She has no interest in me as a lover. To her, I am no more than a silly elfling."

"She is angry right now," Orophin pointed out. "She will calm down. How can she see you as an elfling? You are a warrior. She knows that."

"Perhaps." Rúmil shrugged and looked around for his clothes. "But that will not repair the situation. Right now I am going to apologize before I lose my courage."

"Apologize? To Nerwen?" Orophin arched a brow.

"To Galadriel," Rúmil said in a resigned voice. "It may be my last chance before I leave for the fences."

x

Orophin returned to his talan briefly to speak to Doria, then headed down to the archery field for a little relaxation and practice. It crossed his mind that perhaps he ought to speak to Nerwen himself, but he had no idea what he might say and eventually decided it would be best not to interfere. He did not quite understand what the problem was between those two, and it was best not to take action unless one knew all the facts.

He had shot all the arrows in his quiver three times before he sensed he was being watched. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Nerwen hovering between two trees on the far edge of the field. He walked down to remove his arrows from the target, then continued on until he stood before her.

"Good day, Nerwen," he said kindly. "What brings you to the training grounds? May I help you with something?"

Her small smile seemed wavering and distracted. "Hello, Orophin. Yes, I was wondering if you would do me a favor."

Orophin bowed slightly. "Of course, if it is in my power." He studied her curiously. He had always thought her a pleasant and lovely elleth, and since he'd begun to suspect she had stolen his brother's heart he found her even more interesting.

"It is about Rúmil," she added in an awkward voice. She folded her hands in front of her and glanced around at the others in the arena, her eyes flitting from elf to elf.

"Yes, I thought it would be," he said gravely. "Come, we can sit over there, where it is private." He led her to the far wall, gently guiding her to sit upon the stone bench. The overhanging vines shielded them from the field. "Now then?" he said, cocking an eyebrow.

She blushed, which was unusual for Nerwen. "I do not know what Rúmil may have told you . . ."

"Almost nothing," he said truthfully.

She gave a small nod and lowered her eyes. "There's not much to tell, really. He and I have been friends for a very long time." She paused and cleared her throat. "Just recently he has taken it into his head that we ought to be more than friends, but that would never work obviously."

"I'm afraid it is not obvious to me."

Nerwen twisted her fingers together and looked uncomfortable. "I just do not see Rúmil that way," she said in a low voice. "He is having a hard time accepting that, and it pains me to see him suffer."

"Such feelings do you credit," Orophin replied, concealing the dismay he felt on his brother's behalf.

She shook her head, and he was surprised to see that her eyes were shiny with tears. "No. No, they do not. I have been cruel to him. More cruel than was necessary, and . . . and I do not understand why."

Orophin was silent for a moment. "How can I help you, Nerwen?"

She looked away from him and ran a slender hand through her hair. "Rúmil has said that he means to return to the border, and to . . . stay there for a very long time. And I fear that my rejection of him has . . . put it into his head that he need not be too careful with his safety."

"Did he say this?" Orophin said in astonishment.

"Not exactly. It is merely a feeling I have." Her eyes met his. "Will you talk to him, Orophin? Tell him I do care about him and that . . . that . . ."

Orophin laid his hand over hers. "Nerwen, are you in love with Rúmil?"

"No!" Her fingers tightened under his. "I do not know. Perhaps I do love him a little. But it could never be right for the two of us to be together. What I want is not what he is. I am nothing but a challenge he cannot resist."

Orophin frowned, taking in the stubborn set of her jaw. "I think you are doing him in injustice. How do you know what he is or is not? Even I do not know everything there is to know about my brother. He is a complicated elf. Do you forget how old he is? Do you realize the number of events he has witnessed, the many battles he has fought?" He watched her swallow hard and stare down at the ground. "Rúmil has seen more death and horror than you ever will, Nerwen. He has had friends die in his arms. Do you remember Ainon?"

She glanced up quickly. "Yes, of course I do."

"He took Ainon's death very hard. So did Haldir, of course. Haldir blames himself for all deaths in Lórien no matter how or when they happen. But Rúmil also blamed himself because he was near Ainon and did not save him. He suffered much, and perhaps still suffers. I do not know, for he will not speak of it. Instead, he laughs and tells bawdy jokes and sings songs unfit for your ears and makes love to fair maidens such as yourself. If that in some way disqualifies him in your eyes, I am sorry for it."

"Oh, Orophin," she whispered brokenly, "I understand what you say, but have you forgotten that my father was amongst those slain? Beredain and I still mourn his loss. And our mother, she left for the West, because she could not bear to stay in Lórien without him." She closed her eyes, a single tear rolling down her porcelain cheek. "To lose the one you love is terrible enough, but at least she never for a moment doubted our father's love for her. To give your heart, and never be sure you are loved in return . . . to me, that seems even worse."

Orophin shook his head, confused by her turn of mind. "I did not forget your father, Nerwen. I forget none who have died within my lifetime and memory. But what has that to do with Rúmil? Do you think he cannot love as your father loved your mother? I assure you, you are wrong."

"I suppose I am." She gave a tired sigh.

"What favor would you ask of me? How can I help?"

"I ask you to talk to him and reason with him. Tell him I am concerned and that I do care about him. I cannot tell him myself right now. Tell him to come back when he can and by then we should be able to talk. And tell him . . . to be careful with his life."

Orophin nodded slowly. "I will tell him. But I agree that time apart might benefit you both. I know not why the two of you are so . . . at odds with each other."

"Pigheaded, you mean?" she corrected, her eyes misty. She seemed to reflect for a moment, then she smiled rather forlornly. "He gave me a small figurine. Did he tell you?"

"He told me you gave it back."

"I did. It made sense to me to do so, but not to him. He did not understand."

"Rúmil does not take his carving seriously," Orophin informed her. "He throws them out, but if I find one, I rescue it. I have a whole box of them hidden away. I'm saving them for his children. That carving he gave you of the doe and fawn, he kept that because he liked it. He said it was like love, fragile and delicate. True love, he said, was like the fawn. At first it must stumble and stagger, trying to stand upright upon a wobbling foundation, but eventually it would grow strong and agile, able to leap the tallest obstacles with grace and beauty."

"Rúmil said that?" Nerwen was looking at him oddly.

"Well, he was a bit drunk at the time," Orophin admitted, "but sometimes that's when he will speak of the things closest to his heart."

Nerwen's sigh was eloquent, but her next question caught him by surprise. "Orophin, do you carve too?"

"Er . . . I have carved, yes, but I have not Rúmil's talent." Orophin tried not to think about his botched efforts.

"But you know how?" Her blue eyes clung to his. "What tools to use, what kind of wood?"

"I do."

"Would you teach me? I would like to learn." The color in her cheekbones heightened. "I thought perhaps . . . I might carve something for Rúmil. I could leave it in his talan so that when he returns . . . he will see it, and know that he is forgiven."

"It would be my pleasure. We can start as soon as he is gone."

Nerwen nodded and rose gracefully to her feet, and he did the same. "That sounds perfect. And you will not forget to speak to him about . . . what I said?"

"I will not forget." He bowed. "All will be well, Nerwen. Do not worry."

x

Rúmil bowed to Galadriel, ignoring the lingering queasiness in his gut. "My Lady," he said resolutely, "I am here to apologize." They stood in Galadriel's garden; or rather _he_ stood while Galadriel sat, softly glowing, her sapphire eyes fixed on his face.

"Dear Rúmil, there is no need." She was looking at him in that calm, thoughtful way that always made him want to shift and squirm like an elfling.

Rúmil opened his mouth to disagree, and then closed it again, reluctant to argue with the Lady of Lórien. Finally, he compromised with, "I would feel remiss if I failed to apologize. My behavior was appalling. I shamed myself and the good elleth upon whose roof I . . . sat." Sprawled was likely the better word, but he decided there was no point in using it; doubtless Galadriel knew quite well the full extent of his failings.

"Come sit down, Rúmil." The Lady patted the bench beside her.

Rúmil obeyed, seating himself tentatively on the edge so that he partially faced her.

She seemed in no hurry to speak, but at last she said in a reflective tone, "I wish to talk to you about love."

Rúmil swallowed and braced himself.

"We all grapple with fear and guilt, Rúmil. But fear is nothing more than the absence of love. And guilt is anger turned inward."

He gazed silently down at the grass.

"Love is fear's opposite, the force that connects us all to each other. It may seem elusive, or even impossible to find, or to accept when one does find it." She paused, looking at him intently. "Fear can be overcome. Guilt fades. But love is as eternal as the elves. It is what gives meaning to our immortal lives. It is alive and tangible."

"Alive, milady?" He frowned in confusion.

Galadriel placed her hand over his. "When one of us dies, our love for that person remains forever in our hearts. That is its purpose. It connects us to our loved one for all eternity so that no one is ever really lost. You must not fear to love, Rúmil, or to speak of the love that you feel."

Rúmil bowed his head, carefully keeping his outward expression as composed as possible.

"Love is not about pleasing the other person," she continued. "It is about letting the other person _be_, and accepting them for who they are. It is about being there for that person, year after year, century after century." She leaned forward, her gaze seeking his. "It is the only true lasting experience. If you try to measure love, it will slip through your fingers like water. It can neither be reckoned, nor forced. Rather, it is an achievement, one of the highest and greatest kind. All else is subject to change. The world around us changes. We elves change too . . . oh, not so much on the outside, but on the inside we change profoundly. Change is our constant companion. But love, Rúmil . . . love is a constant."

He thought this over. "The sky does not change," he said. "The stars are always there."

Galadriel sighed. "Yes, this is true. Yet sometimes I wonder if they, too, shall someday pass from our view." She was silent for a time. "What I have learned, Rúmil, is that a part of us is always with our loved ones. A part of me is with my daughter in the Undying Lands. I feel the connection in my heart and it comforts me." She slowly rose to her feet, her gaze an infinite well of wisdom. "Love is always there for the taking. It is the Source. Bear in mind, Rúmil, that the river flows past whether we drink from it or not."

With a gentle smile, she departed, leaving him wondering what message she had meant for him to take away. It would give him something to think about while he stood guard at the border.

He only wished she had said all that all that to Nerwen.

x

Haldir directed Elanor through the woods on a different route from the one they had used the day before. The place they would be visiting was not as far as the ninniach-loth, but it was still some distance from the city—far enough to give them complete privacy, as Haldir had put it.

Elanor floated along on a cloud of happiness. Their walk was peaceful, fraught with the kind of companionship that lovers had for one another, warm and sweet, yet at the same time sizzling with underlying tension. Haldir carried the picnic basket, and while he was not as aggressively flirty as he had been the day before, his glances were warm and his free hand frequently touched her back or her arm.

"So," she said, after they had gone some distance from the city, "we start our first whole day as lovers. That might sound foolish to you, but it is going to be memorable for me." She glanced up at him hopefully, looking for signs that he felt what she felt.

He slipped an arm around her waist and brushed his lips across her temple. "It is already memorable, Elanor. And it is not foolish. You are wise to savor the joyful moments in your life. I hope they will be beyond count."

"I hope so too," she said quietly. "I wish the same for you."

In due course they reached it, the sparkling pond set amidst the tall trees, fed by a playful stream that wended its way through the wood on its way to the Nimrodel. Haldir set down the picnic basket. "Wait here," he said.

Elanor watched him walk to a nearby mallorn and seemingly without effort, hoist himself up its side until he disappeared into the leafy canopy above. A moment later two rolled blankets hit the ground directly in front of her. "They almost landed on my head!" she called up to him.

As if in answer, a pair of drying cloths fluttered down to settle at her feet. A moment later Haldir landed with a soft thud a short distance away. "Complaints, already? I was careful in my aim." He smiled lazily. "Now, will you take off that gown or must I do it?"

"My, that is straight to the point," she remarked. "Should I acquiesce? I still wonder if I should make things harder for you. You are too used to having your own way. Should I resist?"

He laughed and came toward her, his steps lithe and purposeful. "Games, Elanor? Do you want me to chase you through the wood? If so, I am willing, but that is yet another reason to remove your pretty dress. I would not want it ruined by branches and brambles."

Elanor tried to look shocked, but failed due to an irrepressible urge to giggle. "I am not going to run naked through the trees to entertain you, Haldir. I am not quite that bold."

"No?" A curious smile played at his lips. "I have a better idea. Are you brave enough to swim with me? At this time of year the water is warm, especially this far into Lórien where Galadriel's power holds sway."

She saw the flickering heat in his eyes and decided to tease him. "But what about our picnic? Are you not hungry?"

"I am very hungry," he said, pulling her hard against him. "Hungry for Elanor." As if to prove this, he took her mouth in an open-mouthed kiss, tasting her deeply while his agile hands coaxed her gown from her shoulders and down to her waist. His palms slid up her arms and down her back to her hips, where he exerted a subtle pressure to bring her more firmly against him. When at last their mouths parted, he exhaled a deep breath and rested his head against hers. "So what do you say, Elanor?"

"Mmm, I say I like you like this," she murmured. "For some reason it reminds me of the night you drank too much and threw me over your shoulder. Do you remember?"

"Certainly I remember. I behaved very badly."

"Oh, well, you were not that bad. You were just very aggressive. Of course you always are."

"Aggressive?" He raised his head and gazed down at her, one dark brow lifted. "You think I am aggressive?"

Elanor bit the inside of her cheek to keep from giggling. "Just a little."

The eyebrow lifted a little higher. "Well, you don't seem too concerned about it. Would you like me to toss you over my shoulder again?"

"No, I would like you to take off your clothes." The giggle finally escaped. "Oh dear, that sounds terribly brazen. But I like the idea of swimming."

Haldir's mouth curled into a provocative smile as he stripped off his outer tunic. Elanor watched him for a moment, unconsciously admiring his physique, then daintily completed the removal of her gown. She still felt queerly shy about doing this in front of him, but that feeling vanished the instant he turned and held out his hand. "Come," he said, his eyes locked with hers.

Hands clasped, they waded into the water until they were waist deep, then sank into the water up to their necks. His arms came around her when she shivered. "Cold?" he murmured.

"No, I am only getting used to it." She wrapped her arms around his neck and let her gaze rove over his face. "Actually, it's quite nice." She locked her legs around his torso, enjoying the feel of him against her skin. "Not like that other frigid stream I fell in while you stood there and did nothing."

"You are not ever going to forget that, are you?" he inquired.

"Probably not." She brushed his lips over hers, then drew back and looked at him.

His gaze drifted from her lips to her breasts, then his mouth took hers in another bone-melting kiss, his tongue boldly thrusting and seeking while his hands explored her body both above and below the water line. Elanor returned his caresses, her palms gliding over his arms and shoulders and up the strong column of his neck, where her fingers tangled with his long, silken hair.

He spread kisses over her cheekbones, brow and throat, then cupped her face with his hands and gave her a softer kiss that slowed the pace of their lovemaking. With a smile, he brushed back her hair and drew her against him, rocking her with a gentle, swirling motion that created little waves in the water. Filled with contentment, Elanor sighed and wrapped herself around him, enjoying the feel of his male hardness and the press of his hands on her hips. Overhead, the birds sang and chirped and the nearby stream burbled over rocks. She closed her eyes, her chin on his shoulder. It was so peaceful here that she could almost fall into reverie . . .

Without a word of warning, Haldir released his hold on her and disappeared beneath the water. Elanor blinked, jolted by the suddenness of his action, then squeaked when she felt his hands on her legs. In the next instant a swift upsurge of solid male body carried her aloft; before she could grasp what was happening, she found herself seated upon his shoulders behind his head with her heels pressed to his belly. Water sprayed across the pond's surface as she clung, flailing and yelping, to his hair.

"Not the hair, Elanor." He reached up and pulled her hands away, exerting a backward force that sent her toppling into the water.

She came up drenched and spluttering, but he only grinned and held out his hand, his eyes gleaming with laughter. "I will make it up to you now. Come here."

Glaring, she splashed him and backed away. "Oh, I am supposed to reward you for dunking me?" she said huffily. "I was half asleep!"

"And now you are awake and ready to play."

"And I am also completely wet!" She shoved her sopping hair from her face.

"Wet is how I want you, Elanor." His wicked smile spoke volumes. "As for myself, I have high expectations of keeping you that way. Now stop pouting and kiss me." He closed the space between them and drew her so that the warm satin of his chest pressed against her breasts. "Kiss me," he repeated, cajoling her with the velvet-soft resonance of his voice.

"I really should not give in so easily," she remarked, then succumbed with a laugh and slid her arm around his neck. She stroked his lips with the tip of her tongue and at once his mouth opened, taking hers with renewed urgency, nibbling and tasting with an ardency that sent shivers of need and delight through her body. Then, quite suddenly, he changed the tempo again.

"Lie back and float," he said, pushing lightly on her shoulder.

"Float?" she repeated, looking at him with suspicion. "Why?"

"You will see." His smile told her he had something in mind.

She quickly realized what it was, for he moved to stand between her legs, then sank down in the water and lifted her knees to his shoulders. "Relax, Elanor. Try to stay above the water." His hands brushed up and down her thighs in a soothing, sensual manner. "If you start to sink, I will rescue you, I promise."

"Very funny. Haldir, wait! If you are going to do what I think you're going to do . . ."

"I am. Close your eyes and float. I won't let you drown."

Elanor spread wide her arms, trying to do exactly what he said, but relaxing wasn't easy. This time there were no bed sheets to clutch, no mattress to push against as he teased her in the most expert and delicious of ways. Fire ran through her veins. Like last time, the indescribable sensations nearly overwhelmed her; her breathing grew so erratic that sinking was out of the question. And then, quite suddenly and frustratingly, he stopped what he was doing and rose to his full height, his feet planted on the pond's bottom.

"Now what?" she asked, paddling to reorient herself upright.

"Now we do something else," he said, a huskiness in his voice. "You are too far ahead of me. I would like us to dance together this time."

She looked at him dubiously, then gave a little gasp as he enfolded her in his arms and began to wade toward a grouping of nearby rocks. Did he mean to make love to her there? "Haldir, that does _not_ look comfortable," she said firmly.

"I agree." He paused before one of the rocks. "This one looks like the right height. Sit here."

The rock's surface met Elanor's backside; Haldir bent and licked the water droplets from the valley between her breasts right up to the base of her throat. His hands went to her knees. "Open for me, darling."

Without hesitation she widened her legs, allowing him to move against her, to seek entrance into her body. Her palms automatically outlined the contours of his shoulders while he positioned himself and began to press forward. She closed her eyes and let her head fall back, impatient to feel him inside her again.

"You are very tight," he said thickly. "Am I hurting you? Tell me."

"Not this time," she breathed, her fingers digging into him. "It feels good. Keep going."

With a low, satisfied sound, he withdrew, then pressed in again, harder and deeper. Three times he did this, each time going farther, and on the fourth, he hilted himself completely.

"Mission accomplished," he said, and went still. "Now wrap your legs and arms around me and hold tightly."

Elanor obeyed, and felt herself lifted off the rock and carried back into the deeper water by a pair of very strong arms. "Haldir, what _are_ we doing?"

"We are going to savor the moment. Completion is easy to attain, but making love is an art. Remember, I told you I wanted to play?" Once again they were in the deepest part of the pond, where the gentle, lapping water came up just past Haldir's waist. "This is Haldir's idea of . . . togetherness," he added roguishly.

"Oh my," she said weakly. "I think you are going to kill me."

He laughed softly, his breath caressing her cheek. "Move back a little. Yes, like that." He slipped a hand between them and cupped her breast, stroking the stiffened peak of her nipple with his thumb, teasing her with provocative little circles. Then he leaned forward and licked the rim of her ear all the way to its sensitive tip. Sucking it into his mouth, he flicked her ear-tip with his tongue so that she shuddered and clung to him, making small, helpless sounds in her throat.

The sensation of having him inside her combined with what else he was doing was almost enough to drive her over the edge. Almost but not quite. She desperately wriggled against him, her heart pumping fast, thrumming the blood through her body.

Haldir gave one of his sensual little smiles. "Slow down, Elanor. Wait for me, love." He reached up and clasped her right arm, drawing it to his chest. "Touch me here."

Time passed, but how much Elanor could never have said. She only knew sensation and heady delight, a steady escalation of passion that at last sent them back to the shore . . . and the blanket spread invitingly in the long grass beside the bank. He carried her as she was, still clinging to him, his steely strength keeping their bodies linked, but as he lowered her to the blanket they came apart, tumbling side by side like two sodden younglings.

At once he reclaimed her lips, invading her mouth with abandon, the low rumbling sound in his throat feeding the flames of Elanor's own desire. She kissed him hard and reached down to stroke him, gripping him firmly this time, with more understanding of what he liked. His mouth found her throat, then shifted downward to seek out her nipples, first one then the other, circling and tugging at the same time his practiced fingers slipped between her thighs to tease and test her readiness. Within moments his weight pressed her down, engulfing her with his maleness and solid warmth while he entered her with one quick, hard thrust and established a rhythm.

This time there was no pause, no interruption. She could feel the steady pound of his heart; he wanted completion as desperately as she did, yet he was also determined not to leave her behind. "Stay with me," he rasped, his face pressed to her damp hair. "Where are you?"

She clutched urgently at his back, her fingers digging in. "Almost . . . no, it is starting . . ."

He increased the force of his thrusts, driving into her with a hard possession that had her arching upward, mindlessly pushing back to match the surging movements of his hips. Unbidden, an image formed in her mind of gilt-edged clouds lit by a fiery sunset, and then she heard him cry out at the same time she felt it, a white-hot, cataclysmic explosion that came in wave after wave, rolling through her body like thunder down a mountainside. At the end of it came something else, something beyond words, a brushing, shimmering sensation that felt warm and comforting and marvelous . . . and wholly unfamiliar.

Afterward they lay quietly, listening to birdsong and the soft rustle of leaves and creaking of branches high in the great trees.

At last Elanor spoke. "That time was different. What did you do?"

Haldir lifted his head, his expression gentle yet oddly enigmatic. "That was my fëa you felt. Our fëar touched briefly."

Amazed, Elanor tucked some wet strands of hair behind his ear. "Why did that happen?"

"It happened because I chose to make it happen. I have never done that before. I did not know what it would be like."

She did not dare ask him why he had done it. Perhaps he did not know. Perhaps he had only been experimenting and it meant nothing to him at all. Yet why had he experimented with her and not the others?

"It added something very nice," she said in a soft voice.

"Yes, it did," he agreed. "Are you cold?"

"Not with you on top of me." She smiled mischievously, hooking her ankles more firmly together at the small of his back. "I am not at all sure I am going to let you go. I might just like to keep you like this. You will be my prisoner. What do you say?"

"An interesting proposal." He cocked his head, pretending to consider it seriously. "The possibilities are mind-boggling, but so are the challenges. You'd make a lovely mattress, but target practice would be a disaster."

"Depending on what kind of target practice you have in mind," she pointed out.

Haldir laughed and rolled over, forcing her to disengage her legs. "Ah, that is better," he said, looking up at her with a mischievous gleam. "Next time you can ride me."

"Ride you?" She lifted her brows, noting the way the water had spiked his long eyelashes into attractive clumps. "Like a horse?"

"Not quite," he said dryly. "A horse on its back, perhaps. Sometimes it is best not to be too literal, Elanor."

Elanor giggled. "Are you hungry now?"

"For food, you mean? The answer is yes. So if you will allow me to sit up . . ."

Elanor scooted off him and pulled over the picnic basket, putting it within his reach. "You certainly packed a lot of food in here," she said as she rummaged inside.

He reached for one of the drying cloths and rubbed it over his chest and face. "Enough to last until tomorrow."

She glanced up in surprise. "Until tomorrow? We are spending the night here?"

Haldir nodded and pointed upward. "I built a flet up there. I keep a few things in a trunk—blankets, furs, various supplies. We can rest there quite comfortably and have a clear view of the stars. There will be a full moon tonight."

"Oh." Elanor looked at him. "So this is a place you bring all your ellith." She tried not to sound as though the idea bothered her, but it did.

"_All_ my ellith? You make it sound a bit crowded."

Elanor turned away, trying to hide her disappointment that he had failed to deny it. "Would you like one of these?" she asked, offering him a muffin.

He gripped her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. "Elanor, this is a place I come to be alone, to think and to dream. And, all too often, to come to terms with the challenges I face. I have not brought others here, nor do I share it lightly. Only my brothers know where I go when I disappear from time to time."

"Haldir, I am sorry. Once again I have behaved childishly. I think perhaps I am overcompensating."

He removed the muffin from her hand and set it aside. "Overcompensating? What do you mean?" He took her hands in his, clasping them lightly.

She gave a small shrug, studying the shape of his beautiful fingers; even the nails were perfect. "I mean . . . I used to lock everything inside and not say the things I truly wanted to say. Now I seem to have swung in the opposite direction, doing and saying things I sometimes regret. I suppose at some point I will find the middle ground."

Without looking, she knew that he was smiling. "Elanor, I do not know what to say except that I have faults of my own. The fact that we are together tells me that whatever faults we have pale in comparison to what we like about each other."

She squeezed his hands and glanced up. "You speak wisely."

"Why, thank you, Elanor." He seemed surprised and pleased by her response. "Now, shall we eat? And after that, I could really use a nap. All of me," he added with a glint in his eye.

Elanor smiled serenely and refused to rise to his bait.

x

Orophin stretched out his long legs, lounging comfortably upon his favorite cushioned bench, set in the corner of his terrace amid a number of leafy, potted plants. Beside him, Doria sat with a book of poems in her lap. "So you think your brother is in love with Nerwen?" she asked. "That's what last night's excitement was about?"

"Well, that is my impression, although I would not say so to Nerwen. It is Rúmil's task to tell her or not as he sees fit. I accused him of being in love and he did not deny it. Yet I know not if it is a lasting love, or simply a fleeting passion born of desire for that which eludes him."

"Poor Nerwen," Doria said with a sigh. "Is there nothing we can do to help?"

"Don't you mean 'poor Rúmil'?" Orophin said quizzically. "He is the one who is suffering. She only feels guilty for being the cause of it."

Doria turned to look at him. "Only? Are you saying that Nerwen suffers less than Rúmil?"

"Of course she does. It is she who denies him, not the other way around."

"That means nothing," Doria pointed out. "You denied me, did you not? Think how you suffered. Or at least you claim you did."

Orophin laughed. "Of course I suffered. But that was a different situation."

"I really do not know why you are laughing," Doria protested in a pained voice. "In fact, I think you are being a little callous."

"Callous?" Orophin straightened, twisting around to stare at her. "Just because I think they have to work this out for themselves does not make me callous!"

Doria laid her hand over his. "I am sorry, Orophin. I should not have said that. You are not callous in the least."

Orophin relaxed. "No, I am not. I only have reservations about Nerwen. I do not think she appreciates my brother as she should. She is a good elleth and I have always liked her, but she seems too different from Rúmil in so many ways. I do not see the common ground."

"Because you do not see it does not mean it is not there."

"True." Orophin considered this. "In any case, I have agreed to teach her to carve. She wishes to make something for Rúmil to prove that she has forgiven him."

"Really?" Doria smiled. "Oh, that is sweet."

Orophin cast her an amused look. "If you like, I will tell you what is even sweeter."

Doria's blue eyes met his with open curiosity. "Tell me."

Orophin slipped an arm around her waist. "You, my love."

Doria giggled and set aside her book. "Orophin, you are the one who is sweet. You always say the nicest things to me. I love you so much."

Recognizing encouragement when he heard it, Orophin pulled her onto his lap and kissed her neck. "I am many things, my love, but sweet is not one of them. Promise me you will never say that when my brothers are around."

"Oh, I am not sure I can promise that." She smiled and snuggled closer, her fingers curled in his long pale hair. "What if I forget and it slips out?"

Orophin pretended to take this seriously. "You are forgetting how well I know you, my love. I see the truth of this matter. You want to keep this as something to hold over my head."

"I do not!" she said, looking indignant until she saw his playful grin. "Oh, you are teasing me! You are so naughty, Orophin!"

He tightened his hold on her waist, and let his hand slip down to rest on her hip. "And I am thinking about being even naughtier, just to prove that I am really not sweet."

Doria sighed happily. "I really do not know why I put up with your teasing."

"Because you truly love me," Orophin said softly. "And because you know that I truly love you."

"Oh, Orophin, you are so . . . so . . ." Doria seemed to struggle for words he would accept.

"Good in bed?" Orophin said helpfully.

Doria giggled. "Well, yes."

"Thank you," he replied, trying to look modest. "But as with everything else in life, practice is important."

"Is that a statement or a suggestion?" Doria inquired with twinkling eyes.

"Both," said Orophin, as his mouth moved to cover hers.

x

Elanor watched Haldir sleep, wondering why it was that she could hardly bear to look away. He looked so beautiful and peaceful, so perfect really. To be with him at all was an unlikely dream come true for Elanor of Rivendell. She smiled to herself, remaining silent and still so as not to disturb him, but as it happened, he did not rest long, and before she knew it he was kissing her again. This time their lovemaking was slow and tender, with an element of lazy playfulness and gentle caring that filled her heart with joy. Afterward, they lay in each other's arms, quietly absorbing the muted woodland sounds as the day grew late and the shadows long.

At last Elanor broke the silence. "So how are we going to get up there? Or at least, how am _I_ going to get there?" She peered up into the leaves above their heads, but could see no sign of this flet he had mentioned.

"You will climb," Haldir replied, "or I will carry you on my back. Your choice, Elanor."

"Neither sounds too appealing," she said with a sigh. "I am better with stairs."

"I am sorry, but there are no stairs. However, I threw down a ladder made of hithlain which you should be able to manage." He gave her an affectionate pat on the rear.

"Not without my clothes. Oh, will you stop laughing at me? It does not look easy."

In the end, she made it up the ladder with Haldir behind her, urging her on between chuckles. Once on the flet, Elanor collapsed while Haldir bent down on one knee beside her, his hand on her back. "That was not so hard, was it?" he asked, looking closely as though to gauge her reaction.

"No, it was grand fun," she said, making a wry face. "I hope going down will be easier."

Haldir shook his head in mock exasperation. "Elanor, it appears I must give you climbing lessons. If you are going to continue living in Lothlórien, you must learn."

Elanor peeked at him from beneath her lashes. "Does that mean you would like me to stay?"

Haldir tousled her hair, which he had just finished carefully combing only a short while before. "Of course I do. Now stay here while I bring up the rest of our things." He disappeared over the edge, and Elanor glanced around.

The flet was not large, but seemed solid enough. There was a chest at one end, pushed up against the great mallorn trunk, and although most of the flet was open, there was an area on one side with a canopied cover she supposed would protect against wind or rain. It would not be needed tonight, for it was clear and still, with a sweet and balmy late summer breeze sifting through the golden leaves. She shivered slightly, not because she was cold but because the reality of what was happening was starting to engrave itself on her mind. Where had the old, reserved Elanor gone? Who was this new and passionate Elanor who could flirt and tease and make love to Haldir of Lórien? And what would happen next?

As this last thought entered her mind, Haldir reappeared with the picnic basket and the blankets. "Here we are. There is a good-sized bedroll in that chest. Between that and the blankets, we will be quite comfortable. If may not be soft enough for your delicate backside, but it will have to do."

"It will be fine," she said, smiling at him.

And it was. Very soon they arranged themselves much as they had done the night they had shared a cloak all those months before on their journey from Rivendell. And just as he had done that night, Haldir curled an arm around her waist and settled his hand on her breast.

Elanor turned her head, trying to see his face. "Haldir, do you remember that night we shared your cloak?"

"I remember, Elanor. It was cold."

"We lay together much like this."

"Except that we were fully clothed," he pointed out. "This is much better."

Elanor smiled. "Yes, but what I am saying is . . . did you know why I jabbed you in the ribs in the morning?"

"I think so," he answered, snuggling his face into her hair.

"You do?" She half turned to look at him more fully. "No, you do not."

"Something about where my hand was?" His eyes were closed, but she could see the way his mouth was curving.

"You _knew_? Haldir, I cannot believe you would be so . . . so . . ."

"Elanor, you were dressed. It is no great matter, is it? It was cold. I thought it a practical way to keep my hand warm."

"A practical way?" Elanor repeated. "That is your idea of practicality?"

"It seemed practical at the time," he replied. "Come, stop your sputtering. I am going to sing to you now, unless you choose otherwise."

"Yes, please sing. I would love that." Elanor settled against him, curling her legs into his.

And so Haldir sang to her while, one by one, the stars came into view, glittering high above them like diamonds strewn upon black velvet. The song he had chosen told the oldest of all tales, the tale of Creation passed down through the ages, recorded in cherished and ancient texts. It was the story of Eru, The One, and of Eru's offspring, the Ainur, and how, together, they had created the Great Music at the beginning of time long before the waking of the firstborn, the Elves.

Tears came to Elanor's eyes as she lay in Haldir's arms, listening to the haunting words sung in his deep and beautiful voice. She tried to imagine music so powerful that it had resulted in the creation of the world, but it was unimaginable and beyond her comprehension.

When Haldir was finished, she reached for his hand and brought it to her lips to kiss. "Thank you," she whispered. "That was wonderful. I will remember this moment forever."

"You are most welcome, Elanor." Haldir's voice sounded very tender to her ears.

tbc (feedback appreciated and thank you to those of you who are reviewing!)


	23. Chapter TwentyThree

xxxx

**Note:** Special thanks to Mal (aka Malinornë), our Elvish consultant.

xxxx

**Chapter Twenty-Three**

The soft twitters of forest birds pulled Elanor from her dreams, drawing her to wakefulness in a manner both pleasant and new. Breathing evenly, she lay still and took in her surroundings, including the hard male body around which she had wrapped herself with startling abandon. It amazed her how natural it felt to wake like this, naked and in Haldir's arms, and at the top of a tree far from the city and Haldir's talan. How she wished they could just stay here forever, hiding away from the rest of the world, at peace and at leisure to do as they wished. But of course they could not.

A small sigh escaped her, very soft, but regrettably enough to rouse him . . . or perhaps he had been awake all along. His eyes met hers, the grey irises of his eyes looking almost blue in this setting, reflecting the early morning sky above them more than she was used to seeing. Or perhaps it had something to do with his mood.

His hand brushed against her arm. "Awake already?" he asked. "Are you not tired?" She assumed he referred to their wakefulness during the darkest hours of the night, an interval in which they had once more savored the sweetness of each other's bodies.

"I am fine," she assured him. "Not even sore, although I am sure that is a small miracle."

"The flet was not too hard?" His brows arched in an inquiring manner.

"It is not the hardness of the flet that I am thinking of, Haldir. We have been rather busy, you might recall." She blushed slightly.

"Ah, so we have." His lazy smile seemed both teasing and tender. "This will make up for the long bout of abstinence I am about to endure. That is one of the more inconvenient aspects of border duty."

Considering this, she stroked her finger along the muscles of his chest, her head resting in the hollow of his shoulder. "Is it difficult for you?" she murmured softly. He was so sensual, so passionate, that she was sure that it must be.

"It depends on circumstances. This time it will be." His gaze traveled over her face, but he did not elaborate.

Elanor debated the wisdom of her next question, but finally decided to ask it. "Haldir, do you ever sleep with any of your female wardens while you are at the border?"

Haldir hesitated. "It has happened, yes, but I do not make a habit of it. There are times when life is difficult and . . . one simply needs . . ." Amazingly, the look on his face was one of slight embarrassment, not the reaction she'd expected.

She covered his lips with her fingers. "You need not explain. I should not have asked. It is not my concern."

The arm curled around her waist tightened ever so slightly. "It is your concern," he said, very much to her surprise. "You have a right to know if I will be faithful to you when we are parted. The answer is yes, I will be." His voice was matter-of-fact.

Touched, Elanor lifted her head and looked directly into his eyes. "And I will be faithful to you also," she told him. _Forever_, she promised inwardly, though she did not say it aloud.

He gave a slight nod. "I am glad. I do not demand it, but that is the way I prefer it." He paused. "Elanor, you know I must return to the fences. It was my intention to stay for a month, and that still holds sway. You will not forget that you agreed to have no more dealings with Lurien while I am gone." The voice of her lover grew sterner, becoming more like the voice of her guardian.

She shifted her weight, reaching up to brush a mallorn leaf fragment from his pale hair. "I will not forget. But you know very well that if Healea takes over as my archery coach, Lurien is going to be displeased." She paused, trying to envision this. "The fact remains that I made a bargain, and if I am going to break it, I really need to devise a new bargain that will satisfy him. I gave him my word."

Haldir rolled to his side and raised himself on one elbow, his head propped against his hand. His other hand reached for hers and held it lightly. "But that requires that you speak to him, Elanor, which is contrary to my wishes." She noticed he did not use the word 'command', but he was looking very displeased.

"I know, but I cannot break my word." She squeezed his fingers and leaned forward to press an apologetic kiss to his cheek. "You told me you would speak to him yourself. Is that still what you intend?"

"It is indeed." His voice was tight. "I will do so today before I leave."

"You leave today?" Elanor could not conceal her dismay. "I was hoping you would stay a little longer now that . . . now that things have changed for us."

Haldir's face softened; he released her hand to caress her cheek with the back of his fingers. "I am sorry, Elanor. Recollect that I returned to the city only for the archery competition and I did not intend to stay. That is now two days past. I lingered only because my dark-haired ward cast a spell on me." He playfully flicked the tip of her nose.

Elanor caught hold of his hand and drew it against her heart. "I wish I could cast a spell that would keep you here longer."

"But you have. My thoughts will be of you every moment we are parted." Again his words surprised her. She realized with a thrill of delight that it was as he said; he really _was_ wooing her. Until this moment she had hardly dared to believe it, or to think of what that might mean.

"My thoughts will be of you also," she replied a bit shyly. "And my dreams as well."

A slow smile curled his lips. "Perhaps we will dream the same dreams. I will make love to you that way, from a distance."

"Not as satisfying," she pointed out with a blush.

"Indeed not," he agreed, his lips twisting. "And yet provocative. And just so you know, Elanor, in my dreams there will be no pantalettes."

"Just for that remark, I will order a dozen more," she teased.

"Do, and I will hide them throughout the Golden Wood and make you search for them."

Elanor giggled. "You are cruel. I will retaliate by sewing all your tunics shut. All your leggings too."

Haldir let out a chuckle and pulled her over on top of him. "You know what consequences that will bring, Elanor."

"I certainly do," she said, quite smugly, acutely mindful of all the places where their bodies touched. A little wriggling on her part could easily start the whole business up again, and the idea pleased her, making her feel rather powerful.

He laughed again, apparently reading her mind. "Lusty elleth," he murmured. "Our bed activities plainly meet with your approval."

Elanor bit her lip. "Yes," she admitted, her cheeks going hot.

"I think we are very well matched in that regard," he added, a glint in his eye. "And in other ways as well."

She longed to ask him to elaborate, but at that moment he rolled her off of him and sat up, saying, "But no more of that right now, Elanor. We must dress and eat. After that, you are going to learn how to climb back down a hithlain ladder."

She sighed. "Oh, very well. I don't suppose it can be all that difficult."

"No more difficult than climbing up."

"That is another matter. You were laughing at me the whole way!"

"I was enjoying the view," he corrected.

Elanor blushed. "Oh, Haldir."

Haldir knelt beside her and gazed deeply into her eyes. "Elanor, I see you as far more than a bedmate. You know this, do you not? Last night, when our fëar blended for that moment, that meant something to me. It was the greatest intimacy I have ever allowed."

"I . . . I see," she whispered, her mind spinning with the implications.

"Perhaps it was wrong of me," he went on, his eyes searching her face. "Perhaps I overstepped myself." She had never heard Haldir sound unsure of himself before. What did it mean?

"No," she said, quickly reassuring him. "No, you did not. I liked it. It made the moment very special."

"I am glad." He gazed at her a moment longer, but his expression was unreadable. "Come, put your gown on," he said at last. "We will break our fast together, and then take our leave of this place."

x

Túre walked alone along a path leading around the perimeter of the city. She had risen early, startled from her slumber by a dream so vivid it had seemed almost real. In it she had been visited by Iridor, the elf she had loved so long ago, the one she had lost to the brutality of the Orcs. Yet this morning, before the first light of dawn, it was as though he had stood before her once more, his smile gentle and his voice radiant.

"We loved, you and I," he had said, "but I was not the one meant for you, Túre of Lórien. Here in Mandos I am at peace, and here I will remain for many long years to come. I still bear much love for you, but the one you wait for, the one to whom you will bind yourself forever, still lives and breathes the air of Arda. Do not despair, dear one. The time draws near when you and he will finally meet." And then he had reached out and touched her, sending waves of jubilation searing through her essence . . .

What did it mean? So excited was she that her hands trembled, while her steps led her nowhere in particular. She had already met everyone there was to meet, at least here in Lothlórien. Did that mean that she must leave this place to find him? Or that he—whoever he was—would travel here? And how much longer must she wait?

In truth she did not care, as long as she knew that he existed. She was patient and could wait now that she had hope again. And yet, what if it were only a dream created out of wishful thinking? Who could she ask? Who could offer her counsel?

Frowning, Túre reached up to brush back a lock of hair from her cheek. Should she tell Healea? For some reason she was reluctant to do so, fearing that her pragmatic friend would dismiss the dream as meaningless. Healea would not mean to be unkind, but she had never been one to indulge in wishful fantasies or fancies. But who could she tell? In vain she searched her mind for an answer. Perhaps there was no one with whom she could share this tale.

Eventually she made her way to Galadriel's garden, for of all the gardens in Caras Galadhon, it was the most beautiful and offered the most tranquil setting. Peace was what she needed in order to think this matter through. Without knowing why, she found herself heading to the place where she had spoken so cruelly to Elanor. Elanor was not here now, of course, but Túre sank down upon the spot where Elanor had been and placed her hands upon the grass.

"I'm sorry," she whispered to Elanor. "I truly am." She gazed at the flowers and bowed her head humbly, feeling remorse for the way she had behaved. "Eru grant me the courage to apologize. And to face whatever I must face until the time comes when I will meet _him_, whoever he may be."

Almost magically a shadow fell across the grass, like an echo of that other scene where she herself had approached Elanor in an almost stealthy manner. Túre glanced up, half expecting to find the Rivendell elleth standing there, but it was not she.

"Good morning, Túre," Lord Celeborn said gently.

Túre rose at once to her feet, respectfully bowing her head to the Lord of Lórien. "Good morning, my lord," she returned, her voice subdued. A brief silence ensued during which Túre felt herself being examined.

"I am glad to find you here," Lord Celeborn said at length. "You are just the person I wished to see. One might say this is an amazing coincidence . . . if one believed in such things."

Túre's head jerked up in surprise. "A coincidence?" she echoed faintly. "You wished to speak to me?" This was a rare occurrence indeed.

"Yes," he said gravely. He lifted a hand to gesture toward the main path through the garden. "Shall we walk together?"

"Certainly." Túre had no intention of refusing, for her curiosity was aroused. Why would Lord Celeborn wish to speak to her? And on this of all mornings?

Side by side they walked in silence for some distance before he spoke again. "Tell me, how long has it been since Iridor was slain?"

Túre started, astonished by the question. "Many years, my lord. More than three hundred by my count."

"Yes." The elf-lord's eyes were on the path ahead. "I remember it well. A sad day it was for all of us, but most of all for you."

Túre said nothing, yet her heart gave a painful jerk.

"Last night I was given a message," he went on in a pensive voice. "From none other than Iridor himself."

Túre gasped. "W-what did he say?" she stammered, her heart slamming hard inside her chest.

"Only three words. 'Speak to Túre'. Yet he did not say what it is I am to speak to you about."

Túre knew. It was a sign, one sent by Iridor to let her know that her dream carried weight, that it _had_ been genuine. "Oh!" she cried out, reaching spontaneously for his hand. "Oh, thank you, my lord. You cannot know how much this means to me!"

Lord Celeborn looked mildly surprised by her enthusiasm. "You are most welcome, of course. It means something to you?"

"Indeed it does," she explained. "I too had a dream . . . or perhaps it was a vision, I do not know. He must have known that I would doubt . . . but thanks to you, I now know that it was real!"

"I see." Lord Celeborn tilted his head as he considered this.

"I would explain more except . . . this is rather personal." Túre knew that she was blushing.

The Lord of Lórien gave her one of his beautiful smiles. "There is no need to explain, young Túre. I know you have been lonely. If Iridor brought you comfort, I can only say that I am glad."

Túre nodded almost shyly. "Yes, my lord. He brought me comfort . . . and hope. Hope is something I had lost."

"One must never lose hope," Lord Celeborn said quietly. "It is what gives us the courage and the resolution to go on. Hope sustains us, Túre. It is what enables us to live our immortal lives. Without hope, we elves would fade. You know this."

"I do know it," she agreed. "Iridor knew it too." Tears sprang to her eyes. "He did love me," she whispered. "He came to give me hope."

"He did love you," Lord Celeborn agreed. "And unless I am mistaken, it appears that your future path is about to take an unexpected turn."

x

Elanor and Haldir made their way through the forest in silence. Haldir appeared lost in thought, and in fact had been uncommunicative ever since they had departed from the flet where they had spent the night. Elanor cast him a glance, wondering where his thoughts had wandered. Most likely his duties weighed heavily upon his shoulders and absorbed much of his attention.

At last he looked at her, giving her a sudden smile. "Forgive me, Elanor. I did not mean to ignore you."

She reached out and touched his arm. "I did not feel ignored, Haldir. What were you thinking about?"

"Many things. You, for one. And Rúmil and Nerwen. And other things."

Elanor looked at him, conscious of a small stab of worry. "Haldir, the last thing I want is to be a burden to you. "

"A burden?" He looked taken aback. "How could you be a burden?"

"I mean . . . what is happening between us is so sudden. Perhaps I was wrong to push so hard for . . . for the closeness we now share." She swallowed a slight lump in her throat. "You have so much responsibility. I feel wrong to add to it."

He reached out to guide her around a tree stump partially hidden by leaves. "Elanor, you do not add to it. Perhaps you did during those first weeks, but not now. Now you are a ray of sunshine in my life." His eyes met hers and in them she saw a warmth that told her he spoke truly. "You have greatly added to my happiness simply by being here with me."

Pleasure rippled through her. "In that case, I am content. My greatest wish right now is to be your helpmate in all things. I do not want to be a distraction. What I mean is . . . the bad kind of distraction, the kind that keeps you from doing what you wish."

"You are the best kind of distraction," he said calmly. "The kind I need. You bring joy into my life, Elanor. A great deal of it."

"Oh," she said, and felt her spirits soar. She smiled impishly. "In that case, I will do my best to continue to distract you."

He smiled. "I am counting on it."

"But I do not want you to worry about me while you are gone," she went on tenaciously. "I can take care of myself. I can handle Lurien."

Haldir frowned.

"You never asked me how I resisted him when he tried that mind trick on me."

His silver gaze met hers. "Tell me now."

"I thought of you," she explained. "I completely blocked him by filling my mind with images of you."

"That was enough?" He sounded doubtful.

"Yes. Well, I had to reach for the most vivid images, of course." The admission brought heat to her cheeks.

"Vivid images?" His brows lifted. "Should I ask what that means?"

"I'd rather you did not," she said, averting her eyes from his. "I just want you to know that . . . I am certain I could do it again if need be. Not that it will because Lurien gave me his word."

"It will not happen again," he said grimly. "And not for that reason alone." She could hear the threat in his voice and knew it boded ill for Lurien.

"May I ask you something?" she said timidly. "This is in no way intended to be a criticism of your Lady, but I am wondering why she does not tell Lurien to discontinue such behavior."

Haldir was silent for a time. Finally he said, "Galadriel rules Lórien, it is true, but she will not intervene in such matters unless it is warranted. That she has not done so suggests much. That is all I can tell you. Apart from her opinion on matters to do with Lórien's defense and its relationship with other realms, I do not know the Lady's mind."

"I see." Elanor mulled this over with a sigh.

Coming to an abrupt halt, Haldir slid his arm about her waist and pulled her closer. "Enough talk of Lurien. I would rather speak of Elanor. I want her to know that when I return from the Fences, I will be impatient and eager for her company."

Elanor smiled. "She will be waiting for you most anxiously, I promise."

"I will hold her to that promise," he said, more seriously than she expected.

Elanor reached up and laid her palm against his cheek. "Haldir, I am not going to leave you. You speak as though you think I will."

He gazed down, his mouth quirked a little oddly. "No," he said slowly, "I don't think you will. But unexpected things can happen. I want you to know that I truly wish you to stay with me. You are no burden, Elanor. I . . . care for you greatly. And I am proud of you. I hold you in high esteem."

"Thank you," she whispered, amazed and moved. "I know not what I have done to make you feel this way about me—"

"You have simply been yourself," he interrupted. "Your true self, I mean. My Elanor has unfurled into a beautiful, brave flower. I would keep that flower near me for a long time to come."

Elanor reached for his hand and lifted it to her lips. "I will stay with you for as long as you wish," she said emotionally, and kissed his palm.

"I am glad to hear it," he said. Then he bent down and gave her the sweetest kiss imaginable to seal the bargain.

x

Orophin rolled over in bed and opened his eyes. As he did each morning, he immediately turned his head to look at Doria, lying so sweetly next to him still deep in reverie. Drinking in the sight of her, he could not help thinking himself the most fortunate of elves. How beautiful she was, and how wonderful! He was quite sure that no elf had ever loved the way he loved his Doria. He only hoped she would come to a decision soon about his marriage proposal.

He raised himself up on one elbow, taking in the delightful tumble of her pale hair, the sensual curve of her lips, the enchanting way her golden lashes lay against her cheek, the porcelain smoothness of her shoulders and . . . his hunger for her swelled as his eyes drifted lower. The only thing he wanted to do right now was to wake her and make love to her. Unfortunately, he had an obligation to fulfill. He had promised Nerwen that he would speak to Rúmil, and he had not yet done so. And he needed to do that before Rúmil left the city, which he might decide to do at any time. Orophin knew that he would not necessarily wait for Haldir to return.

Where was Haldir anyway? Last night Orophin had looked for him to return from wherever he had taken Elanor, but apparently the two of them had spent the night together in the Wood. Would Haldir have taken Elanor to his special retreat? If so, it was significant. To Orophin's knowledge, Haldir had never taken an elleth there before. Haldir considered it his private place, and invited no one to share it, not even his own brothers. On the other hand, it did not seem very likely; they had probably gone somewhere else. Orophin dismissed the matter from his mind and turned his thoughts back to Rúmil.

With a sigh, he slipped quietly out of bed and pulled on his clothes, determined to catch Rúmil while he was still in his talan. A few minutes later he reached Rúmil's door. He knocked lightly and entered, listening intently to be sure Rúmil was alone.

He found Rúmil fully dressed, standing on his terrace wearing a gloomy expression on his face. His brother barely glanced at him as he walked over to stand beside him.

"It is a little early for a visit," Rúmil said indifferently.

"I wanted to speak to you before you left."

Rúmil was silent.

Orophin cleared his throat. "Nerwen spoke to me yesterday. About you, that is."

"Oh?" Rúmil's tone grew icy. "Has she stumbled across more of my faults? If so, I am sure she could not wait to speak of them."

"She is worried about you," Orophin said quietly. "And so am I."

"Why?" Rúmil's hand swept out to catch a golden leaf that drifted through the air. He stared down at it as though he had never seen a leaf before.

"I do not know what you said to Nerwen," Orophin said carefully, "but whatever it was, it led her to believe that you might be careless with your life if you were to take part in any kind of battle."

Rúmil laughed bitterly. "She is wrong."

"Is she?" Orophin looked at him intently. "I must be sure. If she is right, I cannot allow you to go back to the Fences."

"You think you could prevent me?" Rúmil's brows arched high, his haughty tone reminiscent of Haldir at his most arrogant.

"I know I could," Orophin said calmly, "because I would have the aid of every other warden in the city. That is no bluff. You know what I can do if need be."

"I am not going to endanger myself," Rúmil scoffed. "Especially not for such a foolish reason. Nerwen grows ever more irrational."

"She told me she cares for you."

"Indeed, I know she does. As one cares for a younger sibling. Or perhaps a pet."

Orophin rolled his eyes. "Do not be stupid, Rúmil. Stop feeling sorry for yourself and face facts. Nerwen is simply confused, and I cannot blame her. You have been an incurable flirt for so long. You have slept with half the maidens in Lórien. How could she take you seriously?"

"How could she not?" Rúmil countered. "Does she think I do not know my own mind? I am no youngling."

"Nerwen is ruled by logic," Orophin replied. "She looks at your past and sees an elf who flits from elleth to elleth, never giving his heart fully to any. Your drunken songs did not help."

Rúmil sighed. "I know." He was silent for a time. "What else did she say?"

The reluctant interest in Rúmil's voice had Orophin concealing a smile. "She said for you to come back as soon as you can. By then the two of you should be able to talk. She also asked me to tell you to be careful with your life. She is concerned about you."

Rúmil pressed his lips together, looking a little thoughtful. "Did she seem sincere?"

"Yes." Orophin wished he could tell Rúmil about Nerwen's wish to carve him a gift, but there was no way that he would betray her confidences. Rúmil would find out at the appropriate moment.

"Well, I suppose that is something." Rúmil heaved a sigh. "I suppose my past behavior does suggest a lack of commitment."

Orophin remained politely silent.

"Still, I plan to leave very shortly. Tell Haldir that I will see him at the Fences, whenever he decides to show up. Where is he anyway?"

"With Elanor. I think they spent the night together in the Wood. Does that surprise you?" Orophin knew his eyes were twinkling.

Rúmil smiled slightly. "Not at all. Our brother seems quite smitten."

"At long last," Orophin concurred. "And how very odd it is that all three of us should find ourselves in such a state after all these many long years."

"Odd things happen." Rúmil tossed the leaf in the air and watched it float down to settle at his feet.

"Indeed they do," Orophin agreed.

x

Elanor and Haldir reached the city and, together, climbed the many steps leading up to Haldir's talan. The few elves they passed either said nothing or greeted them pleasantly, although Elanor was conscious of the curious looks cast in their direction. Haldir appeared unfazed, treating the situation as if spending the night in the forest with his ward was entirely normal and natural. Nothing ever seemed to rob him of his legendary poise and self-control. Elanor smiled as she amended that thought. That was not quite true, was it?

Once inside the talan, Haldir washed and changed into his gray warden's garb, and then assembled his weapons, inspecting his arrows carefully, although no one had touched them since he had set them down in the corner. Elanor watched him silently, knowing better than to ask him not to go. She understood he had a duty to perform, and even though she had no wish to see him leave, she was conscious of a sudden burst of pride in his behalf. Haldir's responsibilities were weighty, yet he handled them capably and well. Could any other elf in Lórien take his place or do the job as well? Perhaps . . . and yet perhaps not. Elanor had her own opinion about that, but perhaps she was a little biased.

As if feeling her gaze, he turned to look at her. "Elanor, will you braid my hair?"

It was the not the first time she had done this for him, but it was the first time he had asked her in quite such a way. It was entirely a request, one she knew instinctively that she was free to turn down. Of course she would not have dreamed of doing so. It was a task she loved, although she was even fonder of the unbraiding part of it.

Haldir sat in a chair while she cared for him, dexterously weaving the silken locks of his beautiful pale hair back into the conventional warrior braids. She was careful to leave no strands that might cause him any inconvenience or mar his vision in any way. It was important that he be able to see everything he needed to see at all times.

"Thank you," he said when she was done. He rose to his feet and took a single step toward the table where his weapons lay, then stopped suddenly.

He turned and walked into the bedchamber, and after a brief hesitation, Elanor followed. He stood on the far side of the bed looking at the wall, but when she entered the room he paused and looked back over his shoulder, his eyes resting on her thoughtfully.

Something in his posture made her wonder if he preferred to be alone. "Is there something you do not want me to see?" she asked. "I can leave."

"No, Elanor. You may stay." He returned his attention to the blank spot on the wall, touching it with his right hand while he murmured something she could not hear. What he did next she could not see, but suddenly a small portion of the wall sprang outward, revealing a tiny cupboard. Haldir reached inside and withdrew a small wooden box, then closed the door in the wall. When shut, no lines could be discerned; the wall looked as blank as ever.

Gesturing for her to follow, Haldir returned to the front room and set the box upon the dining table. "This belonged to my parents," he said in a low voice. "I have not opened it since the day my mother gave it to me. It came to me because I was the eldest and also because she thought I was the one most likely to make use of it."

Elanor looked at him silently, then glanced down at the box. It was intricately carved, inlaid with leaves, fruit and vines in a beautiful and complicated design.

Haldir carefully opened the box and reached inside the folds of soft fabric that hid whatever lay within. The object he lifted out was a small oval disk made of clear, flawless, rose-colored glass. It was smooth and flat and very lovely, but she had no idea what its function might be.

"What is it?" she asked, staring at it with fascination.

"It is called an _ind-mir_." He gave her a cryptic look. "It is one of the heart-jewels wrought by the light elves of Valinor. It was a gift to my parents before they married."

He laid the glass disk upon his right palm and then pressed it against his own heart for a few moments. "Now give me your right hand," he instructed.

Elanor obediently held out her hand and felt the weight of the disk settle upon her palm. It was far heavier than she had expected.

"Now press it against your own heart," Haldir directed.

Without hesitation, she did as he bade, exactly the way he had done, then offered it back to him. Rather than take it from her, he put his own right palm over hers so that the disk was completely enclosed between their hands.

"Now, Elanor, I pledge to you my devotion, no matter the distance between us. Will you pledge the same to me?"

She glanced up at him, feeling a bit light-headed as she met his steady gaze. "I pledge to you my devotion, no matter the distance between us," she echoed softly. She did not quite understand what they were doing, but she trusted him implicitly.

With an odd smile, he lifted his hand and removed the disk from her palm. To Elanor's amazement, the disk had separated into two slimmer disks, each as pristine and untouched as the original, with no sign that they had ever been connected in any way. She glanced up quickly and saw him watching her.

"One for each of us," Haldir explained. "Once divided, the _ind-mir _is transformed into _indwaedh, _a heart-bond." He set them both upon the table and reached once more into the box, withdrawing two long, tightly woven cords containing strands of gold as well as other substances. To her astonishment, he threaded each of them through the disks as easily as if the disks were made of water instead of solid glass. Lastly, instead of knotting the cord, he simply held the ends so that they lightly touched each other. At once they fused, forming a perfect circle without beginning or end. Two necklaces, each bearing one of the rose-colored disks.

"How did you do that?" she said in amazement.

"I did nothing. There is old Elvish magic woven into these cords and deep within the _indwaedh_." Looking solemn, he slipped one of them around her neck and the other around his own. Reaching for Elanor's necklace, he pulled the disk downward, stretching the cord until the disk nestled between her breasts directly over her heart. He then did the same with his own, adjusting the disk so that it lay over his own heart.

"I will wear this beneath my clothing," he stated. "If you wear yours while I wear mine, we will be able to feel each other's fëa. You will know that I live and I will know that you live. It should ease your mind so that you do not worry about me." He paused, his gaze on her face. "I can feel you already."

Elanor glanced down at the disk in dawning wonder. It was no longer heavy, but so light she could hardly feel it at all. Yet its power was easily discernable; a pleasurable hum floated just beyond the limits of her ordinary senses, a hum that contained a distinctly masculine flavor. In some way she could never have explained, it actually _felt_ like Haldir.

"I can feel you too," she said in a wondering voice. "It is almost like that moment when we made love . . ."

"Almost," he agreed, his grey eyes glittering. "Not quite as nice, but still agreeable. This is the closest our hearts can be without being bound together in marriage. Once, long ago, my parents wore these during a period of separation."

Elanor was starting to realize the enormity of the honor he was according her. "Oh, Haldir, thank you, but . . . but I feel unworthy of this." She bowed her head, but he lifted her chin with his thumb and forefinger, forcing her to meet his gaze.

"I would not give you this gift if you were unworthy, Elanor. I will hear no more of such talk, is that understood?"

"Yes," she whispered, peeping shyly up at him.

"Now I really must go," he said in a gentle voice. "But though we will be parted, we are still together, linked by the _indwaedh._"

Elanor smiled through the moisture in her eyes. "Yes, I understand."

"No tears, Elanor. I will only be gone a few weeks. Not long at all."

"I am not crying, Haldir. I am only touched by your gift and your thoughtfulness."

He reached for her hands, lifting them to his lips. "Farewell, my Elanor."

"Farewell, my Haldir," she said daringly. His quick smile told her that her words pleased him. And then he pulled her close and gave her a kiss she would remember for many days to come.

x

Lurien sat in his talan, holding a goblet of wine between two fingers while he contemplated the advent of his day. He had stood guard all night, his least favorite time to perform his duty, although as always he had done it without question or complaint.

However, if he had been free to do as he wished he would have gone to Tarwë. Just lately he had begun to need her more . . . in a purely physical sense of course. Any other elleth invariably left him thirsty, his lust never quite satisfied, but not Tarwë. Never Tarwë. It was not only her physical beauty or her passion but the way every movement she made called to him, every caress of her hands, every kiss, every touch of her mouth. Every sound that passed her lips. When he was with her he almost forgot everything else while he drowned in the intense sensual experience of their coupling.

While he toyed with the idea of going to her right now, this instant, he heard the door to his talan open behind him. Something flared in his chest as, for a moment, he thought that she had somehow read his mind and come to him just when he needed her. Instead, it was a male voice that spoke.

"I would have a word with you, Sentinel."

Lurien stiffened, then slowly set down his glass and rose to his feet before he turned and addressed his uninvited and much loathed guest. "Since when do you enter my home without permission, March Warden?"

"Since you have made it your business to meddle with my ward despite my warning. And to interfere with her archery training."

Haldir's voice was like the cold crack of a whip, but Lurien only smiled and crossed his arms, prepared to enjoy this opportunity to annoy his nemesis. "Interfere?" he drawled. "I have done nothing but aid and encourage Elanor. She did well in the competition because of me."

Haldir's haughty face hardened. "I am not here to bandy words with you. I will tell you straight out to stay away from Elanor. No more archery instruction, no more contact. None. Is that clear?"

The arrogance of his tone infuriated Lurien. "That is between Elanor and me," he snapped. "You may be her guardian, but you do not own Elanor. If she wishes to spend her time with me, that is no concern of yours."

"On the contrary, it is very much my concern." Haldir strolled forward, his slate grey eyes narrowed to icy slits. "Do not force my hand, Sentinel, or you will find yourself in yet another situation you will regret. Do not make the mistake of thinking I speak idly."

His oblique reference to their past confrontations riled Lurien as nothing else could have done. "You think you can best me?" he sneered. "I am quite willing to prove you wrong." He stood balanced, prepared for any sudden movement, his sword within easy reach where it lay on the table. His fingers itched to seize and use it.

Haldir's hand move to the hilt of his sword. "I have little time for this, Sentinel, but if you wish it, I will fight you now and be done with it. Do not flatter yourself that you will win. Twice before I have bested you, and I am well able to do it again."

Filled with rage, Lurien nearly opened his mouth to accept the challenge, then thought better of it. He had a far more satisfying plan that he had scarcely begun to put into play. "You are as boastful and pompous as ever," he said through his gritted teeth. "But the day will come when you are brought down, and it is I who will see it done. I will humble you, Haldir of Lórien, in a way that you have never been humbled. All Lothlórien will know you for what you are—nothing more than a sword wielding braggart whose skills have been greatly exaggerated."

Haldir only stared at him. "So you refuse to fight. That is wise. I trust you will show the same wisdom regarding Elanor. I leave my brother Orophin here to watch over her, which he is well able to do. If he sends word that you are making mischief, I will come here and teach you a lesson so harsh you will never forget it."

"Your threats are useless," Lurien shot back. "Useless and empty." He nearly said more, but instead he smiled, an action he knew would sit poorly with Haldir.

"You use words far better than weapons," came Haldir's parting insult. "Neither will avail you if you fail to heed what is my last warning." He spun on his heel and walked out.

Lurien stood still after Haldir left, his body shaking with fury, his fists clenched at his sides. Every curse he could think of passed through his mind, yet his mouth remained clamped shut against his need to shout them. Control. He needed control. That had always been his downfall, and it was still his abiding weakness.

He gulped down the remainder of his wine and stared at the glass, barely resisting the urge to hurl it across the room. Valar help him, he needed Tarwë. Now. Wherever she was, asleep or awake, dressed or undressed . . . he would find her and he would take her. Tarwë would help him. He would take her hard, bury himself inside her until the rapture took him and made him forget his hate.

Yes, that's what he would do. He would find Tarwë.

x

Nerwen huddled behind the tree, making sure she kept well out of sight. From her present vantage point, she had a clear view of the front of Rúmil's talan. She had seen Orophin go inside, and she had seen him come out again. She knew that Rúmil was still within. She also felt foolish for spying on him, but not so foolish that she would stop.

She had no intention of confronting Rúmil; she merely wanted a glimpse of him before he left, just to assure herself that he looked well. Not that she would be able to tell very much from how he looked, she reminded herself. But for some strange reason she wanted, nay, she _needed_ to see him one more time before he left.

Waiting with all the patience of which she was capable, she stood quietly, as though she were a part of the great tree itself. Time passed, and then at last she saw him, sailing through the doorway of his talan with his usual grace, and yet she could see that his jaw was taut and that his movements lacked their usual buoyancy.

Biting her lip, she watched him descend the steps, his long legs carrying him swiftly away from her. As always, he looked every inch the dangerous warden warrior, with his sword, his arrow-filled quiver and that huge elegant bow. A faint, wistful sigh escaped her lips.

"What are you doing?" asked a familiar voice.

Nerwen glanced over her shoulder at Tarwë. "Watching him leave."

Tarwë stepped forward to stand by Nerwen's side. "He will return," she said softly. "Do not fear for him."

Nerwen pondered this. "I suppose you are right. I am probably misinterpreting the entire situation. I am not usually so emotional. All my life I have been governed by common sense and reason. And now look at me."

"You love him," Tarwë reminded her quietly. "That changes everything."

Nerwen said nothing.

Tarwë looked at her. "You spoke to Orophin?"

"I did. And Orophin spoke to Rúmil. So that is done."

Tarwë nodded, her blue eyes thoughtful. "Hence, we continue to wait, you and I."

"At least we do it well," Nerwen said wryly. "Or at least you do."

"Do I?" Tarwë smiled sadly.

x

Intending to visit the bathhouse, Tarwë returned to her talan for a few items, but the moment she stepped across the threshold, a strong pair of arms caught her about the waist.

"Tarwë," Lurien murmured as he pulled her back against him.

Tarwë reached up to grip the muscular arm wrapped around her body beneath her breasts. "What are you doing here?" she breathed as his lips found her neck. Already the golden warmth was seeping inexorably through her limbs.

His soft laugh huffed against her cheek. "What do you think? I want you." Dimly, she heard the privacy latch fall into place.

"Now?" Pride made her protest. "I was about to go the bathhouse, Lurien."

"Then I will give you a reason to bathe." His clever fingers were searching out the fastenings to her gown, expertly loosening ties and untying ribbons as he had done countless times before. "We will bathe together if you like."

"It is too early. Only ellith are there now."

"Later then." He maneuvered her gown down her shoulders, spreading kisses over her face and neck, tasting and nipping and teasing while he steered her across the room toward the table. As they passed a chair, he scooped up a cushion and tossed it onto the table's smooth wooden surface. With gentle hands, he turned her around. "Bend over, love," he whispered.

He entered her from behind, swiftly, taking no time to prepare her, but it did not matter for, like always, she was more than ready for him. Tarwë moaned with each of his thrusts, loving the way he used his hands to enhance her pleasure, the way his mouth pressed against her shoulder, the way he filled her so completely with his maleness. Strong pleasure welled within her, growing ever more powerful until it crested into a magnificent bursting wave that encompassed them both.

Afterward, he carried her into her bedchamber and placed her gently on her bed. "Did you like that?" he teased. He stood over her, his mouth curved and his blue eyes holding a perceptive, victorious gleam.

"No," Tarwë said crossly. "It was not what I had in mind for this morning."

He laughed at her. "You are angry with me? Come now, I gave you great pleasure, Tarwë. Admit it. You cannot fool me." His leggings were still open, his sex only half inclined to relax after its recent activity.

She lay there, looking up at him, making no attempt to cover herself. "You give me one kind of pleasure and another kind of pain. Does that not trouble you?"

Lurien's smile faded. He turned away for a few moments, and when he swung back to face her, he assessed her in a way that seemed slightly altered. "Surely you know I do not wish to hurt you."

"Then why do you do it?" she asked wearily.

"It is not my intention!" His tone was sharp. "I am selfish, Tarwë, but not so selfish that I would deliberately cause you pain. I have told you that I love you. Is that not enough?"

"It is not enough," she whispered, "but it is enough for now." She touched his arm. "Love me again, Lurien. Slowly this time. I want to feel your sweetness."

Lurien leaned forward, his hands planted on either side of her body, his hair a long golden curtain that brushed her flesh. "That I will do, milady. That I will do. And this time it will be very sweet for you, I promise."

x

After Haldir's departure, Elanor spent the rest of the day working in Galadriel's garden. Alone among the plants she was at peace, even more so due to the amazing _indwaedh _pressed against her chest. Normally when she sat here she simply felt the soft emanations exuded by the flowers and trees, but now the pure, low throb of Haldir had been added in, separate and recognizable, yet harmonizing beautifully with the quieter tones of nature. Rationally she knew that the distance between them was increasing with every step he took, but distance seemed to play no factor with the _indwaedh_. She could feel Haldir at every moment. It was almost as though he sat behind her just out of sight, which was comforting and uncanny and exhilarating all at the same time.

The following morning she received a message from Healea suggesting they meet on the archery field around mid-day. The long days of summer were nearing an end, but the weather was glorious, with a pleasant breeze that was not crisp enough to interfere with the trajectory of an arrow. As Elanor walked down the many steps to the ground level, she wondered if Haldir was thinking of her as often as she thought of him. She supposed he was not, for he had more important matters with which to deal. And yet the knowledge that he could feel her the way she felt him sent a sweet little shiver racing over her flesh.

Arriving before Healea,Elanor adjusted the straps of her quiver and waved shyly to two Geledhil who were making use of one of the most distant targets. They waved back and smiled. All of them recognized Elanor now, and most took the time to greet her in a friendly manner whenever they were near. She turned as the gates to the arena swung open and Healea walked onto the field. Elanor could not help noticing her air of confidence, the way she acknowledged those who greeted her with a cool composure that Elanor lacked. Had Healea always been this way? Or had she somehow trained herself to project that supreme efficiency and confidence?

Healea soon reached her and nodded a greeting. "Hello, Elanor. You look well today."

"And so do you," Elanor replied courteously, and saw Healea smile.

"Now that we have exchanged pleasantries'"Healea's gaze shifted to Elanor's training bow"shall we get down to business? Show me your stance."

Despite her sometimes ambivalent feelings toward Healea, Elanor soon found that she was quite comfortable with her new archery teacher. Healea had a way of removing all emotion from her teachings, which meant that Elanor never felt either criticized or falsely praised. And although the same could be said of Haldir, Elanor had always been too acutely conscious of him to completely and absolutely relax the way she did with Healea. On the other hand, the _indwaedh _kept himcontinuously in the back of her mind,forcing her to work that much harder to keep her attention on her aim. Awareness of him washed over her anew just as she let the last arrow in her quiver fly. To her disappointment, it soared past the target and landed in the grass.

"Concentrate, Elanor," Healea said calmly. "Do not let your thoughts stray when you aim. Were you thinking about him again?"

Elanor lowered her bow. "About who?" she said innocently.

"Haldir, of course. Who else?" Looking amused, Healea glanced at the corded necklace Elanor wore about her neck, following it down to where it disappeared inside Elanor's borrowed practice tunic. "What is this ornament you wear? It is something new."

"It is a gift," Elanor replied. When Healea arched a golden brow, Elanor lifted her chin, trying to ignore the fact that her cheeks were probably turning pink.

"Oh, very well, keep your secrets," Healea said amiably. "I am sure you have a right to them. Stay here and I'll retrieve your arrows. I want to stretch my legs."

As Healea walked off, Elanor touched a hand to the hidden _indwaedh_. Provocative thoughts of her night in the forest with Haldir slid through her mind, and for a few moments she closed her eyes, smiling at the memory.

"What are you thinking about, Elanor?" drawled a familiar, rather amused voice. "That smile you wear intrigues me."

Elanor's eyes flew open. Somehow Lurien had approached without her hearing him, and had propped his lithe body against one of the nearby posts designed to support spare long bows. His blue eyes glittered as he studied her, then his gaze shifted as he suddenly caught sight of Healea walking toward them across the grass. He straightened his pose.

"Go away, Lurien," Healea said coolly as she came up to them. "You are not needed here. Elanor has a new teacher and no longer requires your services. Not that she ever did." She handed the arrows back to Elanor, her eyes still on Lurien.

"A new teacher?" Ignoring Healea, Lurien cocked a brow at Elanor. "I thought we had an agreement, you and I." Beneath the question lay an undercurrent that told Elanor he was not pleased.

Healea stepped between him and Elanor. "Yes, Lurien, she has a new teacher. Me. I saw exactly how helpful you were at the tournament." Though he was half a head taller, she somehow managed to look him square in the eye.

"And just what does that mean?" he asked, his lazy smile looked a little forced.

Healea folded her arms, her bearing as confrontational as any warden's or sentinel's. "It means that Elanor would have fared better if she'd had proper training and advice instead of being used as a pawn between you and Haldir's brothers."

"A pawn? That is ridiculous. I only offered aid. I cannot help that Rúmil and Orophin had different methods."

Knowing she had better say something, Elanor took a step forward. "I am sorry, Lurien," she stated with more civility than sincerity, "but I think I may do better with Healea."

He turned to look at her. "And what of our bargain, Elanor?" he said, very softly.

"Did Haldir not speak to you?" Elanor knew it was a craven way to deal with him, but surely it was also the most sensible response, to remind him about Haldir.

"Your guardian and I exchanged words," he said, almost pleasantly. "But that does not solve our little problem, does it? I do not think I am prepared to let that matter slide." With a smirk, he crossed his arms and looked back at Healea, his eyes taking on an odd glimmer as he did so. "As for you, lovely one . . ."

What happened next took Elanor completely unawares. One moment Lurien was simply gazing at Healea, and the next moment Healea was slamming her fist into Lurien's chin so hard it knocked him backward to the ground. He fell over the post, landing in an ungainly heap amid half a dozen bows.

Healea flexed her hand. "Try your mind tricks on me again, Sentinel, and it will be a more tender part of you that meets my wrath."

Lurien leaped gracefully to his feet and shot a black look at Healea, but before he could speak, she had grabbed Elanor's arm and pulled her further down the practice field in the direction of the two elves Elanor had greeted earlier. Elanor glanced back over her shoulder at Lurien, who stood staring after them, his eyes narrowed to angry slits. Elanor repressed a shiver. Already she could see the slight discoloration on his chin that would soon become a conspicuous bruise.

"That should teach him," Healea said in a satisfied tone.

"He will not soon forgive you."

"He may harbor a grudge for as long as he likes," Healea replied almost scornfully. "I do not fear him, Elanor, and neither should you. However, he is a master of manipulation and persuasion and you must be wary of him. Have you not realized how he has been trying to use you to get to Haldir?" She paused, her perfect face displaying no outward sign of emotion. "I must confess I have also been guilty on that count. That day in the garden when I told you of the tournament . . . I admit I thought you would fail miserably if you took part in it." Her fair brows drew together as though she analyzed the situation anew. "Yet I also hoped you would prove me wrong . . . if that makes any sense."

"Truly?" Elanor studied the expression in Healea's clear blue eyes, reminded once again of her mixed feelings toward Haldir's former lover.

"Yes, truly. And you did prove me wrong. Despite your misfired shot, you rose to the challenge and did what you had to do. That was when I began to wonder if our proud March Warden has finally met his match. But it is too soon to say." Healea's contemplative gaze rested on the glinting cord of Elanor's necklace, then her gaze shifted back to Lurien. "He is leaving, but he is not yet done with his intrigues. You must beware."

Elanor glanced over her shoulder and saw Lurien stalking off through the trees at the far end of the arena. Despite Healea's warning, she knew she still had to contend with him. What bargain would he accept in place of that other one? It consoled her that he had not broken his word and tried his mind games on her, nor attempted any dishonorable action of which she was aware. Yet he clearly had had no such scruples with Healea, and that chilled her.

"Come," Healea said. "I want you to try another target."

Elanor concealed a sigh and followed Healea, filled with a sense of disquiet.

x

Haldir's turn at the watch had ended. Other wardens had taken over for those whose time had come to rest, wardens just as skilled and dependable as Haldir himself. Knowing this, he could relax for a time, and with a vague sense of relief, he leaped from branch to branch through the darkness, enjoying the chance for physical exercise as he made his way deeper into the forest toward another flet, one the wardens often used for evening gatherings and rest.

Once at the flet, however, he found himself alone, for all the others had gathered below around a small, friendly campfire. Voices and songs drifted upward, but his inclination was to eschew company and instead lie down here, on the comfortable furs, and let his mind wander to pleasant things.

A week had passed since he had left Elanor, a week during which he had worried that he had made a mistake, that the _indwaedh_ would prove too great a distraction and hinder his battle instincts. Each day while he stood watch, the pleasurable awareness of Elanor floated like a pleasant scent in the back of his mind, yet only when he was off duty could he indulge himself and center his attention on it. He had not anticipated that it would be this strong or this distracting, but he was gradually growing used it. Still, he supposed that any warden who was bound in marriage carried around a similar distraction, and if they could cope with it successfully then of course so could he.

He had told no one about the _indwaedh._ He supposed there were very few of them, and those who possessed them kept them locked away or close to their hearts at all times. He knew he was very fortunate that his mother had gifted hers to him rather than take it with her when she sailed to the West with his wounded and war-weary father.

He stood at the flet's edge and gazed down upon the other wardens. Rúmil was among those who sat by the fire, a peculiarly subdued Rúmil who was clearly harboring personal problems he did not wish to discuss. Haldir was certain that whatever it was that troubled Rúmil had to do with Nerwen, but he had not confided in Haldir . . . although he probably would in time.

Dismissing Rúmil from his mind, Haldir stretched his arms above his head and drew in a deep breath, his thoughts once more on Elanor. She had all but taken over his dreams, some of which had proven so erotic that he had almost embarrassed himself once or twice. He had actually thought himself immune to such things at this point in his life; certainly no elleth had ever affected him in this manner. Of course, he had never imagined anyone like Elanor. He smiled at this, but a moment later his smile faded as he at last faced what was really disturbing him.

Only yesterday tidings had reached him that Elrond of Imladris was due to arrive at any moment. Haldir had known this would happen and he had planned for it, but now he wondered if he had done all he could to lay a claim on her in this most awkward of situations. He had made sure Elanor knew that he wished her to stay, he had told her he cared for her, he had introduced her to the delights of physical love. And he had given her the _indwaedh_.

But was it enough?

Would Elrond seek to take Elanor away? What if her parents had protested, perhaps exerting influence on Elrond? Elanor would not wish to go, but she might find herself unable to withstand commands or entreaties from the Lord of Imladris, especially if Lady Galadriel or Lord Celeborn added their voices. The ruling couple might believe they were doing both him and Elanor a favor by granting her an early release from her obligations.

On the other hand, Haldir believed that the Lady of Light understood how things stood between himself and Elanor, even if he did not completely understand it himself. Would she consider a course of action that she knew would cause him pain? He narrowed his eyes as he considered this. Yes, if Elanor left him, it would indeed cause him pain. He would recover from it in time, but such pain was not something he wished to endure.

Haldir's jaw tightened suddenly. They would all do well to remember that Elanor owed an obligation to _him_. _He_ was the one who had been treated with indignity, and _he_ was the one to whom she owed her atonement! Surely Elrond recognized this. Surely even Lord Elrond would not consider releasing her from her punishment without Haldir's consent . . . which, by the Valar, he had no intention of giving! Besides, she had said she would not leave him. He would do well to remember her stubbornness and strength.

Reassured by these reflections, Haldir placed his hand over the _indwaedh_ where it rested against his skin beneath the heavy warden's tunic. The low throb of her femininity beguiled him, turning his thoughts to matters both serene and sensual. It was like being assailed by every sensory delight that had ever been conceived while drifting on an unimaginably soft summer cloud. Or perhaps it was more like flying, soaring on the wind against a blue sky with the rays of the sun on his back.

Stretching his long body out on one of the furs, Haldir linked his fingers behind his head and let his mind wander contentedly down pathways he had been struggling to keep at bay. Elanor's essence enclosed him like an intimate embrace, evoking desire along with an almost euphoric sense of well-being. He gazed up at the rustling leaves, watching them dance on the currents of night air as if excited on his behalf. Sensation teased without logic or thought, just beyond reach, making him feel young and eager in a way he had not felt in millennia. All in all, this was akin to being pleasantly drunk on exceptionally fine wine . . . with a few delicious extras thrown in.

tbc - Feedback always appreciated.

ind-mir heart jewel

indwaedh heart-bond


	24. Chapter TwentyFour

**To Readers** – this is the last chapter I can upload at this time. Chapter 25 is being written and should be ready in a few days. Thank you for reading. I hope you stay with us through the end of the story. Hugs, J & F

**Chapter Twenty-Four**

Comfortably curled on a bench in one of the hidden alcoves of Galadriel's garden, Elanor absently tapped her fingers, racking her brain in search of some reasonable bargain she could make with Lurien. Lurien himself had suggested that he might be bargained with, so he must have something in mind. What could it be?

All she could think to offer him was a kiss, and the silly thought embarrassed her. The mere idea that her kisses would be worth anything to him seemed ludicrous; no doubt such an offer would have him laughing at her in that mocking way of his. Her cheeks grew hot just to think about it.

She tried to envision kissing Lurien and wrinkled her nose a bit. Still, she could not help wondering if it might be that simple. So easy it would be. A single kiss and it would be over, this nagging worry that plagued her day after day, marring the quiet times she would rather spend dreaming of Haldir, adrift in the marvelous sea of sensation that the _indwaedh_ provided. She did not want to kiss Lurien, but if that was what it would take to get him to leave her alone, she supposed she could put up with it once. Haldir would not need to know; he had enough to worry about.

A moment later Elanor shook her head, aware that she was being foolish. Lurien did not want to kiss her; he only wanted to use her to provoke Haldir. Everyone had told her this already, and she found it deeply disturbing. Really, if it were only she who was involved that would be one thing, but the idea that Lurien was trying to cause trouble for Haldir made her bristle. If it was within her power to stop it then she ought to do it. But was it within her power?

Lost in thought, she rose and parted the veil of leaves, but as she stepped outside the hidden alcove she froze. Not ten steps in front of her stood the tall Sentinel who was causing her so much inner turmoil. He appeared to be absorbed with studying the flowerbed in front of him, but at her sudden appearance he glanced up, looking as surprised as she was.

"Elanor," he said smoothly, after a moment's hesitation. "What a pleasant happenstance. I was just thinking about you." His blue eyes met hers, his extraordinary male beauty seeming to reach out with invisible hands to try to steal her breath away.

"Oh?" Elanor braced herself inwardly, her mind whirling with all the various things she could say. "I was thinking about you also," she finally settled on, hoping she was not making a blunder.

"Indeed." His expression changed subtly. "That is interesting." He clasped his hands behind him and, with his usual spare grace, moved toward her across the grass. His gaze shifted to the alcove behind her. "Shall we sit? Or would you prefer to walk?"

Elanor swiftly reviewed her alternatives. She was not at all sure she was ready to do either with him, but on the other hand, perhaps now was the opportune moment to try to settle this business. "Which would you prefer?" she asked cautiously.

He cocked his head to the side. "I would prefer to sit. I have been on my feet all day."

This sounded so reasonable that Elanor could not refuse. "Very well," she said. She turned and went back inside the ivy-covered bower that seemed far less peaceful than a moment before. Quelling her slight nervousness, she sat down on one end of the bench, leaving plenty of room for Lurien, but he chose to sit in the middle, which was not at all what she had in mind.

"So?" Lurien lifted a dark gold brow.

Unnerved by his stare, Elanor looked down at her hands, trying to appear composed. "So," she said primly, "you are weary this afternoon?"

"I do not think that is what we need to talk about, Elanor."

He was right, of course, and she would do well not to waste this opportunity.

She lifted her chin at him. "Lurien, just what is it you want from me?"

"Plain speech," he murmured, his eyes glinting. "I like that."

"Yes," she shot back, losing patience. "Plain speech. I wish to end our ill-conceived bargain, and you have indicated a willingness to negotiate. So what is it you want?"

Looking amused, he draped one arm along the back of the bench so that his fingers grazed against her shoulder blades, but she did not give him the satisfaction of a reaction. "What do you think I want?" he inquired, his tone languid.

"I thought perhaps you had something specific in mind."

"Not really." He moved his thumb so that it brushed against her ever so slightly, shifting a lock of her hair. "I thought _you_ did."

Elanor yielded to the urge to alter her position, turning sideways so that she faced him. She opened her mouth and then shut it again, feeling terribly foolish. Could she say it? "Lurien, I . . . I will give you a kiss if you leave me alone." She blushed rosily, her heart beating fast.

Just as she feared, he looked as though he might burst out laughing. "A kiss? Is that all?"

"What do you want?" she repeated, her teeth gritted.

Lurien moved a little closer. "Elanor, Elanor, you do yourself an injustice. What do you think I want?" The hand nearest her shoulder slid down to rest there while the other moved to cover her hand.

A long moment of silence stretched between them as his meaning sank in.

"No," she said flatly. She was surprised by her own shock; why had she not expected this?

"No?" His lips twitched. "You fail to understand me, my dear." His fingers wrapped ever so lightly around her wrist. His eyes bored into hers . . . and she found she could not move. All she could see was a blaze of blue, a beautiful mind-numbing blue that had a fullness to it, as though all her hopes and dreams floated inside, carried by gentle, relentless currents. "Elanor," Lurien said softly, "I'd like to love you, that is all. Is that so difficult to understand?"

"No," she whispered, but whether in protest or in answer to his question she did not know. Vaguely, she knew he had released her wrist; she knew that his fingers caressed her arm and that he was smiling sweetly at her. _How very sweet he really was . . ._

"I am attracted to you," he explained in a low voice. "I have been since the first moment I laid eyes on you, even before I knew who you were, or why you were here, or what you had done . . . "

Somehow Elanor tore her gaze away from his, although she had a strong feeling she could not have done so unless he allowed it. "What I had done?" she repeated warily.

"What you did to Haldir." His lips curved beguilingly.

She shook her head, trying to think clearly. He did not know. He could not know. He was trying to trick her. "Stop it," she said haltingly.

"Stop what?"

"I am not going to give myself to you, Lurien. I would not like that at all. Nor would you."

He seemed unfazed by her rejection. "You seem so certain," he remarked, rather reflectively. "Perhaps because you are so young. You have yet to taste so much that life offers. You think to limit yourself to one wine without sampling others. Do you think that is wise?"

She hated it when he tried to twist her words and make her feel wrong. "You are not a wine," she said with heat. "And you are talking nonsense. Please, I wish to be released from our bargain and . . . and I also want you to leave Haldir alone!" she added recklessly.

Something changed, as though the air grew brisk and chill, carrying a hint of autumn and darkness on its wings. Lurien did not move a muscle, and yet he suddenly seemed larger and closer and more intimidating than he had a moment before. And then he smiled almost tenderly and reached for her hand.

"Elanor, I will gladly leave Haldir alone if you will be a little more yielding and agreeable. What I ask is no great matter. A few hours of your time in a life eternal . . . what will those hours be but a delightful memory for us both to add to a thousand others? In time your path and mine will separate, but right now they meet. I am lonely much of the time and so are you."

"I am not lonely," she protested.

"But I am. And I would like your company. If you wish to escape from one bargain, you must offer something in exchange that is of equal value . . . or greater. Your company for a night would meet my requirements."

She shook her head with vehemence. "I cannot agree."

"Then our original bargain holds." His voice held an edge to it. "And so does my hatred for your guardian."

And there it was, out in the open. She stared at him, completely taken aback by his bluntness, as though in the middle of a delicate duel he had suddenly pulled out a club.

"I know why you hate him," she whispered.

"I doubt that, Elanor." He looked away for a moment, and then returned his gaze to her face. "Do you love him?" He no longer sounded tender or gentle or amused, but cold and rather brusque. "Of course you do. It is obvious. But not enough, it seems."

Elanor rose to her feet, too confused to continue the conversation. "You know nothing," she said, her voice shaking. "You understand nothing. You feel nothing. You—" She broke off at the look in his eyes. "Do not talk to me, Lurien. Do not do that . . . " She saw the shimmer in his eyes, but mercifully was able to turn away before he caught her in his net.

She blindly pushed her way out of the arbor, leaving Lurien alone.

x

Distraught, Elanor spent the next few hours huddled on the terrace of Haldir's talan, gazing at nothing in particular, going over the scene with Lurien again and again in her mind.

He had power and made it clear he would use it. She had told Haldir she could resist it, but now she was not certain. How else could she defend herself? She did not think she could hit Lurien the way Healea had. One thing she knew, and that was that she did not want to tell Haldir about any of this. It would only lead to trouble of the worst kind, the kind she wanted to avoid.

This was nonsense. She simply ought to break her bargain with Lurien and give him nothing in return. Yet, if there was one thing she had learned, it was the importance of maintaining her personal integrity. Had she not made an agreement with Lurien, and was that not binding? To her, it was. How could she ever look Haldir in the eye if she could not look at herself in the mirror without contempt? How could she contemplate being worthy of Haldir's love if she betrayed herself?

Was this what Lurien had planned all along? All those offers of friendship he had made had seemed sincere, but perhaps none had meant anything. How many times had he told her that he admired her and wanted to help her? Oh, granted he had initially tried to seduce her, but she had honestly thought that was just Lurien being Lurien, and that _that_ business was over and done with. She had thought they were friends and that he liked her. She had allowed herself to trust him.

She was a fool. How many times had she given Lurien the benefit of the doubt? Too many times, she now realized. And today he had revealed his true colors.

Feeling humiliated, Elanor rested her elbows on her knees and burrowed her fingers in her hair. She had been unwise, as green as spring grass. Over and over she had fallen for Lurien's compliments and wily methods like an unseasoned youngling and now she was paying the price. What had Haldir said about her, back in Rivendell?

_You are a like a new hatchling, Elanor . . ._ _slow to learn . . . _

The words reverberated in her mind, burning her cheeks with shame.

It had to end, all of it. But how? Lurien had _power_ and according to Haldir, Galadriel would make no move to restrain him from using it. Why? Elanor knew the Lady had great wisdom so she would be wrong to assume that Lady Galadriel erred. No, it was Elanor who had erred. Badly.

Despite Lurien's beauty, the idea of giving herself to him even once sent a shudder of revulsion through her body. Her times with Haldir were now her most precious memories and they must not be tainted. Now that she was no longer a virgin, now she knew what it was all about, now that she _loved_ . . . she realized there was no possibility of giving in to Lurien. None at all. And in an odd way, that was not what was worrying her the most.

x

Nerwen held the knife the way Orophin had shown her, whittling carefully at the handsome figure she was trying to create. She knew she should have selected something simpler, something better suited to a novice, but she had always been ambitious. She wanted to create an archer, a proud Galadhel holding his bow and arrow aloft. Something that looked like Rúmil. Unfortunately, her first two attempts had been dismal failures and she had already thrown them away. This was her third try, and she was determined to do better.

Orophin had seemed slightly embarrassed by his own lack of proficiency, but she had thought he did well enough. He had shown her the basics, but now she was on her own. It was she who was dreadful. In her first attempt, she had made the legs too short, and in her second the knife had slipped, beheading her poor little archer!

Her thoughts drifted to Rúmil as she worked. She thought about his smile, the way his blue eyes would twinkle, the way he would always try to slide his arm around her waist to see what liberties he might take before she pushed him away. Unaccustomed tears entered her eyes as she considered what her life would be like without him. This was not like her; she did not ordinarily think such things. Yet right now the idea that she might have permanently alienated him stabbed at her heart. And with her acknowledgment of this fear, the knife slipped and sliced her finger open.

Nerwen stared in dismay as blood welled and dripped upon the skirt of her gown. Save for her cycle, how long had it been since she had seen her own blood? A very long time.

It hurt. And it made her think of Rúmil and the dangers he faced.

"Rúmil," she whispered, wishing foolishly that he were here. He would have bound her finger, scolded her for being careless and then tried to kiss her. And this time she would have let him.

This time she would have welcomed his kisses. She would have clutched him to her, kissed him back, and given him everything he wanted from her and more. Her eager fingers would have searched out the fastenings to his tunic in a desperate longing to touch his bared skin. Her eyes squeezed shut, tightly pressed so that the moisture had to fight to seek its path down her cheeks. Right now she wanted him so badly.

Perhaps it was as well he was not here.

With a sigh, she rose to her feet and entered her bedchamber to search for a clean length of cloth to bind her finger. When this was done, she turned and stared at her bed, which for so many years had been empty of a lover. Only Tarwë knew this; the others thought she still took lovers, and of course she let them think so.

"Rúmil," she whispered yet again.

x

A short distance from Lothlórien, five travelers approached the northeastern border of the Golden Woods on horseback, having followed the Anduin southward after crossing the Misty Mountains. Of these, four were merry while the fifth rode quietly, saying little yet missing nothing of what went on around him. While the quartet of younger elves talked and laughed, Elrond of Rivendell listened to their liveliness with apparent amusement and indulgence. Darkness was falling.

"And how many Lórien hearts do you plan to break?" Elrohir was asking Minden.

Minden attempted to look modest, but was not particularly successful. "I do not break hearts but collect them," he corrected. "As for how many, I cannot say. I dare not try to compete with the sons of Elrond. When either of you is around, no elleth ever looks at me."

"What do you mean?" Elladan protested. "My twin has no luck at all with ellith! He hides with his tongue tied in knots while I do his wooing for him! Then he sneaks in and takes the prize after I do all the work."

Elrohir guffawed and Minden grinned, and the twins started to argue, for of course this was sheer nonsense.

Telrion smiled absently. Despite outward appearances, he was not as merry as the others, for he had spent the last few months feeling guilty and worrying about Elanor. In hindsight, the gravity of their prank upon Haldir weighed heavily upon him, compelling him to seek Lord Elrond's permission to accompany him to Lórien. Telrion knew his own concern had played into Elrond's decision to make this journey sooner than he had otherwise intended, and for this Telrion was glad. His secret hope, confided to no one, was to rescue Elanor and bring her back to Rivendell where she belonged.

Failing that, he intended to linger in Lórien as long as Elanor remained. His much-stricken conscience insisted that he do something, anything, to make her time in this place easier to bear, for he had known Elanor all his life and loved her as a sister. They had grown up together, been tutored by the same tutor (one of Erestor's underlings) and had even for a time wondered if they might be romantically intended for each other. One long ago kiss had proved that theory wrong. They had instead agreed that deep, abiding friendship would serve them better.

His cousin Minden, though slightly younger, had grown up with them too. Minden also cared for Elanor's well being, although Minden was not suffering from as many guilt pangs as Telrion was. Minden still thought the entire experience was good for Elanor, but Telrion disagreed. As for the twins, they had come for pleasure and to protect their father; they did not care about Elanor except in a general sense.

Despite the lightness of their party's mood, Telrion felt a chill race down his spine as they reached the edge of the woods and rode within. He glanced uneasily at the long shadows and then upwards into the mighty mellyrn, but saw no sign of the Galadhrim. Admittedly, being in the company of the Peredhel and his sons should give him welcome into the fair land of Lórien. Still, he had expected they would have greeted them by now.

"How long before they show themselves?" he asked.

Elrohir, riding slightly ahead, shot a quirky smile over his shoulder. "They like to hide, then jump out and surprise us. Last time we made it at least two hundred paces into the Wood before Orophin showed up. Rest assured we are well watched. I feel many pairs of eyes even now." He turned back suddenly, arching to the side as an arrow flew between the horses, embedding into the tree directly behind Minden.

Elrohir gazed upward with a smile. "Well met, Rúmil! If I were not blessed with such astonishing agility you might have skewered me." He laughed as Rúmil dropped from the tree in front of them, landing gracefully without the slightest sound.

"Hardly," Rúmil said dryly. "If I intended to skewer you, my friend, you would be dead." He touched his fist to his chest and bowed respectfully to Elrond. "Mae govannen, my lord. You are expected."

Elrond nodded graciously, looking rather amused by the younger elves' antics. Three other Geledhil soon joined them for a brief period while the Rivendell group debated whether to make camp or continue on to the city. Elrond chose to go forward despite the encroaching darkness; Rúmil selected an elf to accompany them, hinting that they were bound to get lost without a guide. Lord Elrond lifted a brow, but acquiesced. It was true there were no paths to follow, although they doubtless could have found their way.

Rúmil's smile faded after they moved on. Haldir had sent him here to greet the travelers, saying that Elrond's sons were sure to cheer him up. And they had, for a brief time. But now he must return to his post a few leagues to the west, near Haldir, and leave returning to the city for another day. He was not yet ready to face Nerwen, and besides, he had his tour of duty. Gloom descended once more, settling a great weight upon his chest.

x

Shivering a little in the cool night breeze, Elanor pulled her cloak more closely about her and settled herself more comfortably upon the low bench on which she sat. Unable to sleep, she had dressed and wandered the upper pathways of the city until she had ended up on this, the highest flet in the city, which served as a kind of watchtower over the surrounding wood. The single Sentinel who stood guard here had politely ignored her, giving her the privacy she desired. High above, Ithil was nearly hidden by the velvet darkness of thunderclouds. The rain would start soon.

"Elanor." The low female voice startled her.

"My lady!" Elanor rose to her feet and stood waiting, wondering what the Lady of Lórien had to say to her at such a time.

Galadriel drifted across the flet to stand beside her, her presence gifting the area with a soft and gentle light. "I have tidings for you, Elanor."

Elanor bowed her head in greeting, then lifted her chin to gaze into the Lady's eyes. "Tidings, my lady?"

"Elrond approaches. He has already reached Lothlórien and should be here in the city by daybreak. Two of your friends travel with him."

Apprehension swept through Elanor. "Why is he here, my lady?"

"He has several motives, only one of which concerns you. Do not look so worried, child. No one will tear you away from Haldir against your will."

Elanor blushed in the darkness, but did not respond. Galadriel continued to gaze into her eyes although how much she could see in the dimness Elanor did not know.

"Haldir did not tell you Elrond was coming." It was a statement rather than a question.

"No," Elanor admitted. "No, he did not."

The old Elanor would have been annoyed and suspicious that he had withheld information from her, but the new Elanor reacted differently. "He did not mention it," was all she said. Hidden beneath her gown, the _indwaedh_ hummed, keeping him with her at every instant, reminding her of his devotion. She trusted him.

"You have grown in wisdom," the lady remarked. "Far more than I expected in the short time you have been here."

Elanor knew this was her best chance to lay all her problems at Galadriel's feet. She could tell her about Lurien, about what he was trying to do, and beg her to make the Sentinel leave her and Haldir alone. But something inside her hesitated. Instead, she stood quietly, waiting for the Lady of Lórien to reveal her purpose. She recalled that Haldir had said that the Lady knew the minds and hearts of all who live in her land so perhaps she already sensed the problem and was going to offer counsel.

"You know, Elanor," the Lady said reflectively, "we each create our own lives with the power of our choices and our beliefs. Some have gifts that others do not, and must strive to use them responsibly. Yet all who live have something to offer."

Elanor studied Galadriel's face, but the Lady's gaze seemed distant.

"To think for one moment that we know what is best for another is not to understand how life is. Each must make his or her decision to be free. Mistakes are only lessons, Elanor. What flows through one, flows through all." The Lady smiled suddenly. "You have a gentle heart, my dear, and it will serve you well. Go now and rest, for tomorrow will be filled with activity." And the lady drifted away, taking the light along with her.

Alone once more, Elanor shut her eyes, mulling over Galadriel's words and savoring the quiet whisper of the _indwaedh._ She wished Haldir were here with her right now, but since he was not, the _indwaedh_ comforted her, wrapping her in the palpable strength of his unique male essence. Galadriel's words hovered in her mind like an echo. Had she been offering Elanor advice without knowing the problems she faced? Or did she know? This was unclear.

Elanor turned her mind to the Lady's news about the travelers. Could it possibly be Telrion and Minden who journeyed with Lord Elrond? Surely it must be; they were certainly her two closest friends. Suddenly excited, Elanor decided to follow Galadriel's advice and seek her rest. She would try not to worry about Lurien. Things were getting better now; soon she would be reunited with her dearest friends.

x

Rúmil found Haldir where he expected, standing on a high flet, his gaze trained far in the distance as it so often was. Even in the darkness he could see that Haldir's expression held an odd abstraction, as though half of him was faraway and quite oblivious to his surroundings. Rúmil had caught this expression on Haldir's face several times recently, and each time he had nearly said something, but his own heart had been too heavy and it had seemed like too much effort. This time, however, Haldir's distraction seemed even more pronounced; he did not even greet Rúmil as he walked up and stood beside him.

"I am here," Rúmil remarked, watching his brother's face closely. It seemed to him that it took a moment longer than it should have for Haldir to gather himself and glance his way.

"You found them?" Haldir asked. At least his voice seemed normal.

Rúmil nodded. "Telrion and Minden were there too." He saw Haldir's slight frown. "Is something wrong? You seem different lately."

"Nonsense, you are imagining things. It is you who are changed." Haldir crossed his arms. "So when are you going to talk to me about what troubles you?"

Rúmil looked away, wondering if he should allow himself to be diverted in this manner. "I do not know what to say. Or where to start."

"Why not start at the beginning?" Haldir's tone was dry; he now seemed very much himself.

Rúmil considered this. Was there a beginning to this tale?

"I suppose it started with Ainon," he said slowly. "During those first days, when my grief was new."

Through the story he stumbled, with long pauses between sentences, telling Haldir for the first time how Nerwen had come into the garden when he was grieving, and how she had stayed with him and held his hand. And how, in a way that Rúmil did not understand, she had been able to comfort him even though he had never spoken to her or looked at her while she was there. And how he had started to love her during that time even though it had taken him years to admit it. And how he had kept on flirting and sleeping with other ellith while he pushed this knowledge aside. And above all, how much of an idiot he was.

"I more than care for her," he added firmly. "I love her. And I know I cannot force her to love me in return. Haldir, the Lady said that love is alive. Eternal." He swallowed hard, his voice faltering. "I fear I will love Nerwen forever. My love for her will go on and on . . . and I will feel like this . . . forever. I laughed at Orophin," he added bitterly, "and now I envy him."

Saying all this aloud made him feel both worse and better. To confide in his brother was an immense relief, but the words he was speaking made the whole situation seem even more irresolvable than it had seemed before. Then he felt Haldir's hand on his shoulder.

"I am perplexed," Haldir said. "You say she does not love you, but there must be a good reason why she followed me that night you made an utter fool of yourself on her roof. She begged me not to punish you. She made a special point to tell me that you had not hurt her roof and that no one really minded your appalling choice of songs. I was not supposed to tell you that, by the way. Oh, and I left you fully clothed atop your bed, so if you woke to find your boots removed or a blanket on you, I would guess that it was Nerwen's doing. For an elleth who loves you not, she shows a great deal of concern for your well-being. So you can see why I am perplexed."

Rúmil's astonishment had grown throughout this speech. "For Mordor's sake, why didn't you tell me this before?"

"You seemed not to wish to speak of it," Haldir reminded him.

"Well, I did not. But you should have told me anyway!"

Haldir arched a brow.

"But I thank you," Rúmil said in a humble tone. "Now what am I going to do about it? Do you think there is any hope for me?"

"Of course there is. But you will have to court her properly." Haldir smirked slightly. "Any improper songs you sing had best be done in private."

"But I don't know how to court her, I told you this before. I only know how to laugh and flirt and tease and make love. All things she despises."

"Rúmil, how can she despise these things? I have often seen Nerwen laughing and flirting, and I know she has taken lovers, even if you were not one of them."

"Were _you_?" Rúmil asked, trying to look at though he were only curious. In truth, he burned with jealousy for any elf that had been in Nerwen's bed.

"No, little brother, I was not." Haldir surveyed him sardonically. "Feel better now?"

Rúmil smiled sheepishly. "A bit, yes. At least I have a little hope."

"Indeed you do. And many days to plan your next move."

Rúmil sighed, wishing the time to return to the city was closer than it was. What would he do to win Nerwen? What could he do to prove to her that his love for her was true? An idea occurred to him, but it was terribly risky. He would have to think this over very carefully.

x

The arrival of the Rivendell elves drew a crowd as they passed through the gate into Caras Galadhon, but Túre hung back in the shadows as each of the five visitors dismounted from his horse and shook off his rain-drenched cloak. From a distance she saw Lord Celeborn greet each visitor beginning with his son-in-law, Elrond Peredhel, followed by two she had never seen before, and ending with quiet words to his grandsons. Túre had seen the twin sons of Elrond a number of times, and had always admired their dark, dramatic beauty, but at the moment her eyes were drawn to the two unknown male elves.

They were just as beautiful as the twins, tall and lean and sleekly elegant, with long dark hair and eyes that seemed to dance with curiosity. From where Túre stood, she could see the resemblance between them; both were extremely handsome, but one had light blue eyes while the other elf's eyes were green. Perhaps they were brothers or cousins, she thought. Whatever the case, she would not be the only interested elleth today.

The next thing that happened momentarily caught Túre off guard. Elanor arrived, flying down the nearest set of steps as though her heels had wings . . . straight into the blue-eyed elf's arms. He laughed at her and swung her around in the air while the green-eyed elf grinned and made some remark Túre could not hear.

Observing this, Túre suffered a distinct pang of jealousy before she remembered that everything was different now. Iridor had given her hope, and she would be wise to keep it alive, tending it as one would a gentle flame in a chill wind. To return to that dark place where she had dwelled for so long would be akin to rejecting Iridor's loving gift.

Túre squared her shoulders decisively. She refused to be jealous of Elanor. These were obviously her friends, and Túre knew she should be glad for her. She _was_ glad for Elanor. And once that thought took hold and settled like fire catching at a fragment of tinder, she found that her heart had indeed opened and her spirits lifted.

Almost giddy with her newfound optimism, she could not take her eyes off these two new elves. She had always admired the dark hair of the Peredhil and his sons, finding it refreshingly different from the silvery blonds she had been surrounded by all her life. To her, they seemed exotic and strikingly attractive, and these two certainly held her eye. . .

Someone touched her shoulder. Túre started almost guiltily before discovering that it was only Healea. "It appears our Elanor has some most attractive friends," Healea murmured. Her gaze rested speculatively on Elanor.

"Yes." Túre smiled slightly, feeling a little off kilter. She had not told Healea about the dream involving Iridor and was not at all sure she ever would.

"She seems very pleased to see them."

"Of course she does," Túre retorted. "She has lived here many months. She must have missed them."

Healea gave her a curious look. "You seem different, Túre."

"I am different," Túre answered firmly. "Healea, I am feeling . . . happy." She could feel Healea studying her, probing her with those sharp eyes of hers, but Túre chose not to elaborate. It was too soon, and the emotion was too new and precious to put into words or to share.

Healea continued to study her, then finally shrugged. "I am glad. I will not push you to confide in me, but I am here for you if you need me. I will not judge you, Túre. I truly want you to be happy."

Túre nodded, all at once on the brink of tears though she did not know why. "Thank you, Healea. You are a true friend. You always have been."

Healea touched her arm. "And I always will be," she reminded Túre.

x

Elanor finished hugging Telrion and turned to Minden, embracing him while he made some casual jest. Yet she heard the emotion in his voice as he added offhandedly, "We came to see how you were faring," as though the journey had been but an easy jaunt.

"You are well, Ellie?" Telrion was studying her closely.

"Yes, I am." Elanor pushed away her sudden surge of homesickness. "In fact, I have never been better in my life."

The two cousins exchanged glances. "We were worried," Telrion said, after a moment's pause.

Hearing his underlying concern, Elanor placed her hand on his arm. "I am sorry, Tel. I wish I could have gotten word to you that all is well with me." She saw his eyes lift away and search the area, and guessed that he was searching for Haldir. "To my regret, Haldir is at the Northern Fences at the moment, but if he were here I am certain he would welcome you also."

"Would he?" Telrion's doubtful tone told of his skepticism.

Elanor caught Lord Elrond's gaze and suddenly realized she should have greeted him first. With a slight flush, she bowed her head and placed her hand on her heart. "My lord," she said respectfully.

"It is good to see you, Elanor." Elrond was smiling slightly, but he asked her no more questions, nor gave her any hint of his reasons for being there. No doubt he would speak to her in private at some point. She wondered if he had perhaps heard from her parents or from Lana, a disquieting idea. And yet she hoped for news; after all, she loved her family. She simply did not miss them.

"Welcome to Caras Galadhon," she heard Orophin say. He had come up behind her without her knowledge, clearly ready to act as his older brother's proxy as he had on several other occasions. Greetings were exchanged, but soon Lord Celeborn bore Lord Elrond and his grandsons off to see Galadriel, leaving Telrion and Minden with Orophin and Elanor.

"Are you hungry?" Orophin asked them with a smile.

Telrion and Minden declared themselves famished, so he took them all off to his talan, assuring them that he and Doria could easily prepare breakfast for them all. Inside, Doria took their damp cloaks and hung them up to dry while Orophin poured drinks and searched for sweet rolls and fruit.

The meal passed pleasantly for Elanor, abounding in good humor and jests. If Haldir had been there too she would have found it quite perfect, but the low throb of the _indwaedh_ reassured her that all was well with him. She touched the _indwaedh_ hidden beneath her gown, enjoying the security and warmth of Haldir's invisible presence.

Telrion eventually shifted the conversation back to Elanor, taking on the role of protector that he had long ago assigned himself—when he was not playing tricks on her, that is.

"So, Ellie," he asked, his casual tone not fooling Elanor in the least, "Haldir has treated you fairly? He has been honorable?"

Elanor met his gaze squarely. "Haldir treats me very fairly and, yes, of course he is honorable."

"He does not force you to work all day?"

"Haldir forces me to do nothing. He is patient and teaches me much." Somehow she managed not to blush, although it was a near thing when she caught Doria's eye.

Minden sat back, spinning his goblet between two fingers. "You sound as though you are fond of him."

"Yes, I am fond of him," Elanor said quietly. "He has treated me well and he is very honorable. And if you think or speak poorly of him, it will make me most unhappy."

Orophin stepped in rather quickly, making her wonder whether he knew just how fond she was of his brother. "Elanor has spoken truly. You can see for yourself how she glows with contentment. I will confide the reason. You see, she has been teaching us archery, and _I _am starting to improve. I cannot say the same for my brothers, however. They tend to shirk on practice."

Everyone laughed, including Elanor. She gazed fondly at her two Rivendell friends, and at Orophin and Doria, and suddenly realized how much she loved them all. Yet even as this went through her head, an image of Lurien arose in her mind, erasing a portion of her joy. She would have to decide whether or not to speak of Lurien to her friends. What would they say? How would they react? What was the wisest choice? That was what she must decide, and she knew she must consider carefully.

x

With deep foreboding, Haldir strode rapidly over the moist debris that covered the forest floor. The eerie dearth of early morning animal chatter confirmed what his instincts had told him already. Something was amiss, but he had yet to find evidence to back up the nagging feeling that had gripped him quite suddenly and without warning.

A moment later, he found the tracks. Orc tracks inside the realm of the Lady of the Wood. Recent tracks, made since the rain had stopped. They sank deeply into the soil and brought his very real danger instantly to mind.

His eyes narrowed. Had they perhaps been drawn to Lórien by Lord Elrond's party? The scent of the horses could have attracted their attention, but how had they gotten past the border? Past _him_? Possibly the storm could have concealed both sight and sound; they could have slipped in during the night. With a chill, he remembered that the last time this happened they had lost Ainon. He had not thought to let it happen ever again.

He pulled his bow from his shoulder and quickly nocked it, straining for any sound that might tell him where they were. He heard nothing.

His gaze skimmed the thick boles of the forest trees while beneath his tunic the _indwaedh_ hummed. Images of Elanor drifted unbidden through his mind, along with an unsettling rush of emotion. Had it only been two weeks since he'd left her? The last departure had been so difficult, even with the _indwaedh_ to help ease their parting

With impatience, he shunted aside the memory. He could not think of her now! What was _wrong_ with him?

His jaw tightened as he crouched down, bracing his fingers on the damp soil. Orcs now separated him from his patrol at the edge of the wood. In his mind, he accounted for the angle of the trail, mentally reviewing the elves manning posts in that direction. They included some of the youngest and newest wardens, yet they were also efficient and well trained. A chance existed that they were still alive.

Clinging to that hope, he slid deliberately through the trees, keeping downwind of the trail in the hope that the pungent aroma of rain-washed forest would cover his scent. As always, he attuned himself to the wood, his senses on heightened alert. These foul creatures would not leave these woods alive.

He found them soon enough.

His nostrils quivering from their stench, he crept stealthily forward and peered over a massive tree trunk lying on the ground between him and what he hunted. Just beyond, a single Orc guard twitched with apparent uneasiness, its filthy hand gripping its sword as it darted glances all around him. The creature seemed tense and afraidas it should be, considering whose Wood he had invaded. The abhorrent beasts would have come from Moria, but they never seemed to learn that Lothlórien defended itself fiercely. Perhaps because the slain did not return to teach the others.

Haldir ducked down quickly when the Orc shifted again, swinging around to face in his direction. Had he been seen? Nothing seemed to indicate that he had been. He eased himself to a position where he could scan the trees and forest ahead, and noted only a few of the creatures. Not a large group, then. They would be easily overcome.

Haldir withdrew an arrow and silently took aim at the closest Orc, the nervous one. His arrow shattered its chest armor, killing the creature instantly, but not without attracting notice. The others howled and pulled free their swords as Haldir sprang out and leaped atop the felled tree. Swiftly, he launched another arrow, followed by another and then another. Arrows were beginning to come back at him, launched from the trees above.

He jumped down, twisting to avoid an arrow that whistled narrowly past his head. More Orcs appeared and another arrow flew at him, forcing him to duck before he let loose one of his own. Too late he realized that there were more of them than he had guessed. He ran toward a large mallorn, cursing his stupidity while he hauled himself up into the protection of the tree far faster than any Orc could do. Arrows smashed through the tangle of branches, shearing off leaves too close for comfort, but he made it into the thickest part of the canopy where they could not see him. From there, he was able to leap the distance between trees and find a new vantage from which to release more arrows. He paused long enough to emit a piercing whistle to alert his patrol. Regrettably, they would be unlikely to aid him any time soon.

And Orcs could climb.

More arrows flew at him, one so close its fletching grazed his shoulder. When his own were gone, he tossed aside his bow and grasped a thick branch, spinning upside down, vaulting downward to catch another lower bough and then another until he reached the ground, whereupon he drew the long sword at his hip and smiled grimly.

Orcs stormed toward him, lumbering through the brush in their typical clumsy manner. The first to reach him brandished thick blades he batted away with ease. He dove between them and twisted, kicking one in the back so that it rammed headfirst into a tree and broke its neck. Haldir slammed his back against the other, twisting nimbly as a third Orc struck out, so that his evil weapon impaled his fellow Orc instead of Haldir.

Two more charged toward him, and Haldir dropped to his knees as their blades swished narrowly over his head, bringing his own blade around in a wicked arc toward the back of their unprotected knees. Both Orcs fell screaming. Haldir arched his back, flipping back to his feet in time to parry the next Orc's angry thrust. More Orcs circled, willing to let the next one face him alone.

Haldir scowled, noting how many of the creatures still lived. It was a far larger company than he had originally thought, and his concerns for his wardens multiplied. With his left hand, he yanked his dagger from his waist, whipping the long blade against the next assault. It caught the creature's weapon at the hilt, halting its arc while his longer elvish blade sank into the creature's side. That Orc dropped, but two more leaped forward.

Whirling to avoid their ungainly jabs, Haldir gasped as a sudden fiery stab of agony seared his side. He lurched backward, tumbling over a downed tree, but immediately staggered to his feet, slashing his dagger across the throat of the Orc that had thought to finish him. He stumbled backward as more crossed over his temporary blockade, parrying yet another Orc as it hurled itself toward him. Their blades collided, the elvish steel singing as it met black iron.

They began to surround him. Blood ran freely from the gash in his side, but he ignored it and fought on. He dove forward, his blade screaming as he cut down another of the despicable creatures. From the corner of his eye, he saw another raise its weapon and knew he could not turn in time.

Only one word hovered in his mind at that instant. _Elanor._

x

Rúmil dropped lithely from the tree, his feet barely touching the earth before he was off, his sword drawn. More of the elvish patrol sprinted after him, answering Haldir's call without question or hesitation.

The moment they saw the Orcs the arrows began to fly, whizzing past Rúmil, who was in the lead. His brother's signal had been distant, but he had heard it clearly and understood its implications. There were enemies inside the Wood! Too many for his fierce elder brother to handle on his own.

Running as fast as he was able, Rumil ducked low-hanging branches, his fear rising as he hurtled past the few Orcs he came upon, his blade slashing without reprieve as he passed. Ahead, a large group of Orcs swiveled in his direction, and he was hard-pressed to halt his forward momentum as one leaped at him, its sword angled to impale.

Rúmil dove forward, curling into a tight ball so that he missed the weapon. Twisting, he landed on his feet and sprang instantly into a backward somersault, flinging his sword out to slice a hapless Orc across the chest. The open leather armor split, spilling more than blood. The Orc dropped, shrieking, as Rúmil landed lightly, bounding sideways to avoid another blade that careened over his head.

_Where was Haldir?_

Rúmil slammed into the Orc in front of him, rolling straight over the grimy creature even while he stabbed his dagger into it. Straightaway he was up, his attention drawn to the sound of ringing blades off to his left. Haldir was still alive!

By the time Rúmil reached his brother, Haldir was barely able to hold his sword. Backed against a tree, he was using the trunk as a refuge, dodging around the huge trunk to evade vicious lunge after lunge from several Orcs who had him trapped. A score of bodies lay around him, serving as a partial barrier between Haldir and those who challenged him.

Snarling, Rúmil leaped forward, thrusting himself between Haldir and the Orc he fought, and knocked Haldir down in the process. Haldir's sword skittered from his hand, but it did not matter at this point. Rúmil parried the Orc's next swing and thrust his blade into its chest. Jerking it free, he spun the blade backwards in time to skewer a second Orc.

Meanwhile, Elvish arrows were swiftly decimating their invaders and those few who remained were fleeing, pursued by ruthless elves. The Orcs would find no haven in the Golden Woods. This fight was nearly over . . . but not quite.

Rúmil braced his feet over Haldir as his brother struggled to rise, forcing him to remain on his side. Haldir gripped Rúmil's knee with a bloody hand, but Rúmil ignored him, ducking beneath a whirling blade aimed at his head. The Orc bared its grimy teeth and grabbed Rúmil by the neck, and in the ensuing struggle both the Orc and Rúmil dropped heavily to the ground. Rúmil finished off the creature, then turned and shoved Haldir behind the tree.

"Rúmil," Haldir protested, his voice weak.

"Stay behind me!" Rúmil ordered curtly.

He used his body to shield his brother as a fourth Orc ducked an elvish arrow and confronted them. The creature lunged forward, but tripped over his comrade's body, giving Rúmil his chance to bring his blade down upon the Orc's sword arm. It howled, but retrieved its fallen weapon with its other hand only to lose it again when Rúmil kicked him viciously in the kneecap. The Orc slammed to the ground, but managed to catch Rúmil around the ankle and bring him down too. Even with only one good arm, the Orc was strong and brutal; Rúmil groaned as it threw him against a rock, but retaliated quickly by slamming the heel of his hand against the Orc's chin, twisting the creature so that its head cracked against the same rock. A final thrust from Rúmil's sword ended its miserable existence.

Rúmil knew Haldir had been struggling to rise, using the tree as a support, and he turned just in time to see his brother collapse. His face ashen, Haldir slowly slid down the tree trunk, leaving a trail of blood in his wake. Rúmil quickly bent over his beloved brother and anxiously assessed his injuries.

Haldir was unconscious but alive. Barely.

tbc

_indwaedh_ - heart-bond


	25. Chapter TwentyFive

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FYI, this new chapter was actually getting to be too long, so I broke it into two parts. So here is the first half as chapter 25, and chapter 26 is more than half written, so it should not be too long until the next update. Thank you for all your comments and support. Fianna and I are happy you are enjoying our little soap opera.

To Twyla – I'm sorry but this is not a fast food restaurant. The chapters are written when we have time to write them, and the story is updated when the chapters are ready to be viewed. If you want to read fast food fan fics, there are plenty out there. We cannot promise speed, but we do strive for quality. Take your pick.

**Chapter Twenty-Five**

Something was wrong.

Elanor knew it, but could put no name to what it was. It had begun during the meal she'd shared with the others in Orophin's talan, but what set off this feeling she did not know. She was not even sure when it had started. Everything had been pleasing and peaceful when she reached for the sweet roll, but by the time she had finished eating it, something had changed. And it was nothing to do with the food.

Hiding her uneasiness from Minden and Telrion, she took them on a brief tour of the city, starting with a few highlights at the ground level and then moving upward into the mighty trees, ending the tour on the terrace of Haldir's talan. She was slightly amused by their amazement at the sophistication and craftsmanship with which his talan had been designed so that what was in essence a rather small area could appear both spacious and comfortable. Yet something still disturbed her, making her feel unusually tense.

Was it the ongoing problem of Lurien? She considered and then rejected this. Logic told her that it must be no more than the fact that her friends brought reminders of home—her parents and Lana included. Yet logic also told her this was no reason to worry. Galadriel herself had assured her that no one would make Elanor leave this place against her will.

So what was it that nagged at her frayed nerves and made her so jittery? Absently, her fingers touched the hidden _indwaedh_; she could feel Haldir as much as ever . . . and yet . . . no, she was being absurd. It was as strong as ever. She could feel him, and it comforted her.

She led her two friends out onto the terrace, whereupon Minden threw himself upon the bench set amidst an attractive grouping of blue asters. "It seems that all my cousin's fretting has been for naught," he said, cocking a dark eyebrow at Elanor. "You have settled into Lórien as if you belong here."

"As indeed perhaps you do," Telrion added thoughtfully. He walked over to the railing and gazed downward.

"What do you mean, Tel?" She studied his profile, with its slim nose and elegant cheekbones, trying to gauge how much the idea troubled him.

Telrion glanced back, his blue eyes studying her from head to toe. "You are different, Elanor. You seem more confident and less . . . mousy."

"Mousy!" she said with a little laugh. "I was never mousy!"

Telrion returned to the bench and sat down beside Minden. "Yes, you were. You crept around with your tail tucked in, our co-conspirator in name only. Always hiding in the shadows, never brave enough to do anything on your own."

Elanor looked at him reproachfully. "What a thing to say! I never thought I was so timid. What about all the times I saved your skins?"

Minden chuckled, while Telrion replied, "I think it best if we say no more on this. Instead, I would ask why you have not shown us to your own talan."

Elanor lifted her chin. "This is my talan," she said evenly. "I live here with Haldir." The expression on their faces made her quickly add, "It is my choice, so please do not start thinking things you should not think. Haldir has been good to me. Very good indeed." She could feel the blush creeping into her cheeks, betraying much more than she intended.

"I see," said Telrion, his voice unexpectedly amused.

Minden's grin seemed a bit wolfish. "And rather what I expected to happen, though poor Tel here has had his doubts."

Elanor blinked. "What you expected? Whatever do you mean?"

She saw the two cousins exchange glances.

"We thought Haldir might be interested in you," Minden confessed. "In that certain way, I mean."

"I beg your pardon?" She eyed them with astonishment.

Telrion surged to his feet. "For the love of Elbereth, Ellie, we were sick unto death of your selfish sister stealing all the attention away from you! We knew that business of Haldir toying with Lana was sheer nonsense! Minden said he had seen Haldir look at you once in a way that . . . well, we thought . . . he thought . . . "

She folded her arms. "You thought _what?"_

"We thought it was time for you to catch a prize of your own!" Minden added defiantly. "Afterward, Tel thought we had gone too far. And perhaps we did. But here you are, thriving as beautifully as your rosebushes, which by the way Lord Elrond, Tel and I have been tending them for you. Keeping them just the way you like them in case you . . . "

"In case I what?"

"In case you decide to come back with us," Telrion finished. He was gazing at her earnestly, a question in his eyes that put an instant lump in her throat.

She shifted her gaze to the flowerpots, struggling to separate her strong emotions from their words. "I am confused," she said slowly. "You thought I might attract Haldir, and now you think what? That he must be finished with me? I should pack up my things and go?"

"No, of course not! It is just that considering who he is . . . and your attachment to your little house and your garden and . . ." Looking uncomfortable, Telrion stopped and scratched behind his ear, then sat back down on the bench.

"Do you think Haldir means less to me than my rosebushes?" she said quietly. "I am sorry, dear ones, I do not mean to be cross with you. You are correct when you say I have changed, but I am still myself. I am less angry than I used to be, that is all. I am happier and more . . . content. I admit that I do care for Haldir. And I will not leave him unless—or until—he does not want me with him any more. Besides," she added, "I am still his ward and must serve him for a year and a day. I would not break that bond even if I loathed the sight of him, which I do not."

Both cousins fell silent for a time, and then Telrion remarked, "Haldir is most fortunate. I trust he knows this. If not, I will be sure and tell him."

Minden elbowed him in the ribs. "So you can stop feeling guilty now. Everything turned out well despite our prank. Or rather, because of it. Pranks do have their uses, Tel."

Telrion's lips twisted into the mischievous smile she knew so well. "So what now, Min? Our Elanor is more than well, and we have come all this way. Shall we go and locate some of those fair Lórien hearts you were telling me about?"

"An excellent plan," Minden agreed. "I saw more than a few lovely ellith during our tour. One in particular caught my eye. She fluttered her lashes at me."

"She was looking at me!" Telrion protested.

"I think not!"

"You are hopeless, both of you," Elanor said fondly. "Go on then and have your fun."

But as soon as they were gone, her cheerful mood faded. Something wasn't right.

She paced back and forth, mentally reviewing the morning's meal. Everyone had been laughing. Orophin had been telling a story about his last visit to Rivendell, something about falling off his horse into a stream, and she had been listening. She had reached into the basket for a sweet roll and had begun to nibble on it. What had she felt? A quick surge of . . . something. From the _indwaedh?_

For several minutes she searched her memory, but could think of nothing substantial that would explain her growing state of unease. It was no more than a whisper in her mind, a nudging sense that something had happened. Back and forth she paced, her fingers curled so tightly that her nails bit into her palms.

Eventually she decided to rest. Since Haldir had given her the _indwaedh_, she had found that her dreams were more often of him, and more vivid and sweet and so reassuring. And just now she desperately needed that reassurance.

x

Breathing was difficult. The elves carrying the litter were careful not to jostle him, but Haldir's pain was great. He lay still with his eyes closed, wondering hazily how long ago it had all happened while he assessed his injuries as well as what details he could remember of the battle.

The first blow had been the worst, the one that had seared into his side like liquid fire and broken two or three of his ribs. He had managed to turn, but had been unable to raise his sword high enough or fast enough to block the downward thrust of the blade that penetrated his shoulder. What had happened next was a blur. At some point his right arm had been broken, but by then his sword was in his left hand. That shoulder was also on fire, so he must have taken a wound there as well. He remembered that he'd kept on fighting, but had barely been able to do more than block the incoming blows. Lifting his arms had been incredibly painful and difficult, and he knew that if Rúmil had not come when he had, he would be in Mandos right now.

"Are you awake?" The quiet voice was Rúmil's.

Haldir opened his eyes and for a moment saw nothing but golden leaves, then he shifted his gaze and saw the deep worry etched in his brother's crystal blue eyes. Rúmil walked beside him while two other elves carried the litter.

"We are almost to the city," Rúmil informed him. "I have done all I can for your injuries, but the Lords Elrond and Celeborn will do more." He paused, his eyes on Haldir's face. "Do you wish me to cast another sleeping spell?"

Haldir considered this. To be removed from this agonizing pain was tempting, but he wished to be awake, to know what was happening around him. His refusal came out as a bare whisper, very unlike his usual voice.

"Haldir, are you certain?" Rúmil persisted.

"Aye," he muttered. "Leave me be as I am."

Haldir's thoughts drifted until he suddenly remembered the _indwaedh_, and with this came his awareness of Elanor. The _indwaedh's_ subtle hum had been there all along, soothing him in a way he had only just realized. A moment later he discovered that when he focused on it, it dulled some of the pain and eased his ability to breathe. Not the jewel itself . . . but the connection between them was what accomplished this. This surprised him. It also, most unexpectedly, lulled him into a deep and dreamless reverie that took him far away from his pain.

x

Túre heard their voices before she saw them. Unfamiliar and richly male, the sound sent sweet shivers of feminine excitement and expectation racing through her, but she instantly subdued it, fearing disappointment. She desperately wanted to stay in this peaceful place she had found, this place where life seemed good, where light held more power than darkness. She told herself that what was meant for her would find her, whether it was now or a thousand years from now. She could wait.

Even so, she could not resist taking a peek, and so she casually strolled a little further along the path, passing the gigantic trunk of a mallorn to obtain a clearer view. From there the path curved, following the line of the silvery stream that wound its way through the city, feeding the fountains, the bathhouse and the various pools with its gift of crystal-clear water. Near a small wooden footbridge that surmounted the stream stood the two male elves from Rivendell, and with them were Gwirith, Amerith and Isywienflirts, all three of them, and by the look of things they already had both males in their hold. Túre stifled a sigh.

She could not bring herself to behave so, not to mention that it had been so long since she'd flirted with anyone that she had forgotten how. Still, she could not keep herself from studying them a moment longer, and could not help noticing how attractive they were.

Not that she would allow that to influence her; physical appearance was of no account. Character mattered. Kindness and strength mattered. And humor. Iridor had always liked to see her laugh, insisting that it was good for her, and that it made her even more beautiful to him. No one had told she was beautiful in such a very long time.

And then one of the visiting elves lifted his gaze from Gwirith's face and looked straight at Túre . . . and there his gaze lingered.

Their eyes met for only a moment before Túre looked away. She felt foolish, and oddly youthful and awkward despite her years. What was he thinking? Did he think she was spying on them? Did he wonder why she blushed? To run away was craven, but to stare back was over-bold. Some might have done it, but not she.

In compromise, she bent and plucked a daisy, as though it was what she'd intended all along. From the corner of her eye she saw he had not moved and was now speaking with Amerith. Faintly disappointed, she turned away, forcing herself to walk slowly as though she did not care whether he followed. Yet she listened closely, part of her hoping to hear pursuing footsteps. This did not happen.

Instead, she continued on alone, yet this did not trouble her as it once had. On impulse she bent down and placed the daisy on a rock. Just in case he passed this way . . . perhaps he would see it and remember her. That would be enough.

She then proceeded on to the great kitchen where she frequently assisted with the baking of lembas and other food items. She was one of those who made sure that adequate food was prepared and sent to the border patrols, and also to the communal dining area where many elves chose to eat. This occupied her until well past the middle of the day, at which point she brushed flour from her hands, took off her apron, and made her way back to her talan. Upon reaching her door, she stopped abruptly, her gaze directed downward. A lone daisy lay at her feet.

Túre's heart started to pound. She bent down and picked it up, examining it closely. It was the same daisy, she was almost positive. The only way to know for certain was to go back to the place where she had left hers, but she would not do that. She did not need to know that badly, and besides, she would feel silly.

She turned and glanced around, wondering if he were watching her from some vantage, either near or distant. She saw nothing to confirm this, but just in case she brought the daisy to her nose in a signal of appreciation. Then she turned and went inside.

The daisy went into a glass of water.

x

As they climbed the path that led to the great gates of Caras Galadhon, Rúmil glanced down at Haldir. At first he'd thought Haldir had fainted from shock and pain, but after observing him, Rúmil had decided his brother had somehow fallen into a deep healing sleep—without the aid of a spell. This was unusual, but good.

"I will go ahead," he told Enetheru and Seidiron, the two wardens who had volunteered for the honor of bearing Haldir's litter. They had not stopped to eat or rest, and had made only one brief pause to drink the clear waters of a forest stream.

Rúmil sprinted the remaining distance, knowing the gate guards had already seen them because the bell had started to tollthe bell that would announce to all that a wounded elf was being brought in. It would summon the Lord and Lady, along with Lórien's most talented healers, and most likely Lord Elrond himself.

"Find Orophin," Rúmil commanded the first Sentinel he reached, a much younger elf of lower rank whom he knew only slightly, "and tell him it is Haldir who is injured."

The Sentinel saluted and swiftly left, but not before Rúmil had seen his shocked look. Perhaps he was another who thought his brother was invincible. Rúmil turned back to watch Haldir's litter approach, and wondered suddenly who was going to tell Elanor.

x

Elrond was studying an ancient manuscript Celeborn had acquired, perusing the delicate writing with a fascinated eye, when he felt Galadriel stiffen. He looked across the table at her and saw that her eyes had closed, her beautiful face tight with distress. Elrond quietly tested his own gift to see if he could discern the cause, but nothing came.

"Galadriel?" Celeborn was watching her closely.

Her eyes flew open. "We must go," she stated. At that instant a distant bell began to toll, a discordant, mournful peal that sent a tide of misgiving through Elrond, for he knew well what it meant. How many were hurt today? Would Mandos receive another fëa into his Halls?

Galadriel's sapphire gaze fixed on Elrond as she rose to her feet, her hand held out toward Celeborn in silent gesture. "We must _all_ go," she repeated. "At once."

"I will send for my satchel of herbs," Elrond said quietly.

"Please do, Elrond. We can always use your aid."

Elrond followed the noble couple out of the talan while the bell continued its toll. He paused briefly to speak to one of the Lórien sentinels, directing him to where he would find his collection of herbs, and bid him make haste. He then hurried after Celeborn and Galadriel.

They soon set foot upon the forest floor, for they knew that the wounded would be taken first to a healing area near the gates. As they headed in that direction, a grim-faced Cothion came quickly toward them. Elrond knew Cothion well, for the scholarly elf had spent much time in Rivendell and was friend to Elrond and Erestor both. Since Cothion's marriage to the beautiful Healea, however, he had not left Lothlórien.

"My lady, my lords, Haldir has been brought in. He is gravely injured."

Galadriel paused, her hand on Celeborn's arm. "Are there others?" she asked, her voice very steady.

"Nay, my lady," Cothion replied. "Only Haldir, but Rúmil accompanies him. The litter-bearers have taken him to the central tent."

Galadriel was difficult to read, but Elrond could feel Celeborn's concern and Cothion's too. It would be a blow to all of Lórien for this elf to be in peril of his life. Not only was Haldir a skilled warrior and leader, but he was also held in the highest esteem by the Lord and Lady. And what of Elanor? How would this affect her?

They hurried forward, reaching the courtyard quartering a number of healing tents. These white fabric enclosures filled the perimeter of the square, a first response area where the injured could receive aid before being sent farther into the city to a recovery talan. Behind the tents grew a tall hedge that kept the whole area walled off from outside view.

All but one of the tents were open, their side panels rolled up to allow the air to flow through, but the tent directly opposite the courtyard entrance was shielded by its cloth walls. In front of it, a tall elf Elrond recognized as a well-known Lórien healer was struggling to prevent both Rúmil and Orophin from entering. A number of others stood nearby, clearly waiting to hear word of Haldir's condition.

"I was just explaining to Rúmil and Orophin that they cannot enter," the healer declared as the threesome arrived. He sent the two wardens an admonishing glance. "Too many inside will only make our work more difficult," he said, glaring at the two brothers. "You will help best by staying outside."

Elrond clapped a hand to each brother's shoulder, propelling the two wardens aside so Galadriel and Celeborn could enter. "It would be best if you stayed out here," he told them. "You must have faith that he is strong and will fight to live. He is too stubborn to do aught else." He began to turn away, but Rúmil's hand on his arm gave him pause.

"Haldir has been distracted lately," Rúmil said. "His behavior had been . . . odd."

"Odd?" Elrond arched a brow. "In what manner? Does he neglect his duty?"

Rúmil quickly denied this. "He is simply different, my lord. Distracted."

"What do you mean?" said Orophin, looking confused.

Rúmil rubbed at his neck. "I cannot explain. 'Tis such a subtle thing. I can only say he has not seemed like himself. I thought perhaps this knowledge might be of some use." He stared toward the tent as if tempted to leap past the healer still guarding the entrance.

"I will bear it in mind, but you must remain here for now, both of you. After we care for your brother you may enter."

Both brothers bowed their heads, and Elrond turned away again, pondering Rúmil's words as he entered the tent.

x

_Warmed by Haldir's ardent kisses, Elanor lay in his arms, drowsing in the afternoon sun. His arms enclosed her, but she could not see him, for she faced outward, in the direction of a large white marble archway entwined with honeysuckle._

_"Where are we?" she asked in sudden confusion. "I do not know this place."_

_"You do know it," Haldir replied. "It is where we live."_

_"I do not know it," she insisted. "What is this place? Where are we?"_

_"This is our home, Elanor. Our home in the Undying Lands."_

_"This is Aman?" Why did she not remember? _

_She sat up quickly, trying to see more, but the sun shone bright in her eyes, obscuring everything else from her sight. Only the archway could she see, but the sun dazzled, forcing her to shut her eyes for a moment, and when next she looked the arch was gone. They were in Lórien again, near a glistening pond not far from the glade of the ninniach-loth. This time she faced him, for they were making love and he was buried deep inside her, his face near her own._

"_Elanor," he whispered. "Where are you?"_

_"I am right here. What do you mean?"_

_"I cannot see you."_

_"I am here," she gasped as he surged into her._

_"Stop hiding from me, Elanor. Where are you?"_

_"I am not hiding!" she protested, her hands clamped on his shoulders. "We're making love, Haldir. Do you not feel me?"_

_"I feel nothing," he said. "Why are you hiding from me? I cannot see you."_

_"He sees me," purred a new voice._

_Elanor turned her head, seeking the one who spoke. Lana stood nearby, watching them with those guileless blue eyes of hers, her golden curls woven with elanor blooms and tumbling over her shoulders. She held a bouquet of dark red roses in her hands, roses that came from Elanor's garden._

_"He will never see you again now that I am here," Lana said tenderly as a bell began to toll in the distance. "You will always be invisible to him." She tossed a rose so that it landed on Haldir's back._

_"No!" Elanor protested, even as Haldir continued to thrust into her. "No!" All pleasure had vanished, replaced by unspeakable horror._

_Lana tossed another rose._

_"Elanor," Haldir muttered. "Don't leave me . . . "_

_"No!" Elanor cried out._

_"He cannot see you . . . "_

_"Don't leave me . . . "_

_"I will not leave you!"_

An insistent hand was shaking her. "Ellie!" said a voice. "Ellie, wake up!"

Elanor came to with a cry in her throat, her heart pounding hard from the nightmare, but it was Doria rather than Lana who hovered over her.

"What?" She drew a breath and stared at her friend. "What is wrong?" Doria had never woken her like this before, and she could clearly hear a bell. It must mean something.

"It is Haldir," Doria said gently. "My dear, you must brace yourself. He has been wounded."

x

Barred from entering the healing enclosure, Rúmil paced. Now that he had time to relax and think, he realized how distraught and shocked he truly was. Until this moment he had been in warrior mode, doing what needed to be done with as much speed and efficiency as possible. Seldom did his friends see him like this, for under normal circumstances he reverted to his lighthearted persona the moment he returned to the city. But not this day. Even though he knew the best healers available were caring for his brother, this day his nerves stayed as taut as an over-stretched bowstring.

Orophin came over and touched his shoulder. "Doria has gone for Elanor," he said in a low voice. "I thought to spare her for a little while yet, but Doria said she must be told at once." He paused and lowered his voice even more. "You are not responsible for what happened, Rúmil. Haldir would not blame you, and neither should you blame yourself. At least we lost no other wardens. That should comfort you. I know it comforts me."

Rúmil answered with a single nod, aware that Orophin spoke with wisdom. Vaguely, he noticed that people were gathering here in this small courtyard that served as a place of waiting. He wished suddenly that Nerwen had come. Instead, every other elleth with whom he had ever been friendly seemed to be here, but he ignored them for the moment. He then realized that Enetheru and Seidiron were relating their version of the tale.

"We pursued and slew them," Seidiron was saying to those who had gathered, "but Rúmil was the one who saved Haldir. Never have I seen him fight so fiercely, as though he were three elves instead of one."

"If it were not for Rúmil, Haldir would be dead," Enetheru agreed, addressing his listeners. "He must have slain at least a dozen of the vile creatures—"

"Only four," Rúmil corrected with a frown. "And 'twas no great deed."

"And more than half a dozen others did you cut down on your way to Haldir's aid," Enetheru replied with great respect. "You saved his life, sir. That is a great deed."

Three ellith came up to Rúmil as a group. "Rúmil," whispered one of them, with deep sympathy in her blue eyes, "I am so sorry about Haldir." She slipped her arms around him and gave him a hug, which Rúmil returned out of courtesy and habit.

"Let us know if there is anything we can do," commiserated another, who also hugged him sorrowfully. "We can bring you food or drink. Orophin too, although we know he has Doria to care for him."

"We can keep you company," offered the third. "It is difficult to wait alone when one fears for the life of a loved one." She, too, slipped her slender arms around him, and rather to Rúmil's dismay, he realized his bout of abstinence was about to come back to haunt him.

"Thank you," he said gruffly, drawing away. "You are most kind."

"You are so brave and valiant," said a fourth who moved up to join the first three. She, too, gave him a hug and he found himself hugging her back, enjoying her warm curves and wishing she were Nerwen.

He began to feel a little better. None of them were the elleth he longed for, but at least someone cared about his welfare. Yet where had they been when Ainon died? Had they offered to help him through his agony of grief? That period in his life remained a haze to him and he could not recall. Perhaps they had and he had not accepted. It hardly mattered now. The only one who counted had been there when he needed her.

But where was she now?

x

Holding up her skirt, Nerwen flew down steps and across little connecting bridges in her anxiousness to reach Rúmil. She had heard the bell and thought at once of him with icy cold dread in her heart. For a moment she had been paralyzed, then she had run from her talan . . . meeting someone on the way that told her it was Haldir who had been wounded. She had learned, too, that Rúmil had accompanied him but was unhurt, so she had taken the time to go back and slip her little carving into his talan before heading off again. What she would say when she saw him she did not know, but if aught had happened to Haldir, she knew Rúmil's grief would be nigh unbearable. Yet she rejoiced in the well-timed arrival of Lord Elrond. If anyone could help Rúmil's brother, it would be the Peredhel, whose healing skills were legendary.

Haldir would be healed. He must, for the sake of everyone, for all of Lórien, for the Lady, for his brothers . . . and most of all for Elanor, who Nerwen knew loved him though Elanor had never told her so. There was no need.

Nerwen reached a place that gave her a direct view of the courtyard where she knew they would have taken Haldir. She was at least thirty paces away and one level above, but she could see very well that one tent was in use. They must have taken Haldir inside already. She could see wardens and others outside the tent, and yes, there was Rúmil . . . surrounded by ellith. As usual.

Her heart sank. These were not just any ellith but those she had reason to know had shared his bed. She could see them hugging him, and . . . he was clearly hugging them back. It was quite obvious he was enjoying their attentions. Perhaps he was already seeking a companion for later, when things settled back into normalcy. It would be just like him, she thought wretchedly.

She tried not to mind, but she did. It hurt more than she might have anticipated, striking so hard at her heart that she almost could not breathe. It came to her in a little shock of surprise just how much she had allowed herself to hope. All those hours of carving the little archer and dreaming about Rúmil had for some reason created the belief in her that it would be different between them when he came back. She had hoped that they would talk and she would be able to tell him how she felt about him. She had planned to give him her gift as a token of her sincerity. And she had hoped it would make a difference.

What a foolish self-deception.

Her eyes blurred with tears as she watched yet another elleth wrap her arms around Rúmil. She gave herself a mental shake, knowing she ought to keep walking, go on down there and be with him, even if it meant staying on the fringes of the crowd. What if he needed her?

But she could not do it, not this time. She could not bear to meet his eyes, nor see him with the other ellith, not after all the hope she had allowed to bloom inside her. Not after all the things she had dared to dream, all the secret fantasies . . .

Slowly, with sagging shoulders, she turned around and went back the way she had come. She would talk to him a bit later, and be strong for him if need be . . . but not just now. He had all the comfort he required at the moment.

x

Despite the _indwaedh's_ reassuring hum, utter terror filled Elanor's heart. The recent dream had been so horrible, almost as though a part of her had known something had happened to him. She practically leaped down the stairs, heading to that place she had only peeked at once or twice, after having been told what those white tents were for. She had not allowed herself to envision Haldir being inside of one until this moment.

She arrived before Doria, pausing only long enough to locate Rúmil and Orophin. She rushed over to them. "Where is he?" she demanded unevenly. "Why are you just standing here? What is happening?"

"Calm yourself, Elanor," Orophin said soothingly. "He is with the healers. He is being cared for."

"He is alive," she stated, her fists clenched at her sides.

"He is alive," Rúmil agreed, pacing back and forth. "But you cannot see him now, and neither can we. We must be patient."

Elanor watched Rúmil pace, straining to hear what was going on inside the tent, but the voices were low and did not carry. By this time Doria had arrived and was giving Orophin a comforting hug, whispering something in his ear as she did so. Others were gathering, more than two dozen so far, mostly wardens not on duty along with a number of ellith, most of whom had their eyes on Rúmil. A few were looking curiously at Elanor.

Elanor turned back to Rúmil. He had been with Haldir; he must be able to tell her more. "What happened, Rúmil?" she said flatly.

Rúmil stopped pacing long enough to summarize while Elanor's imagination filled in details. Haldir, surrounded by evil creatures. Haldir, fighting for his life. Haldir, in terrible pain all these hours. No wonder she had been feeling so tense. Somehow the _indwaedh_ had allowed her to know that something was wrong.

Once, she had wept over holes in his clothing. He had soothed her then, telling her the wounds he'd sustained had been nothing. Was this also nothing? She wanted to burst into tears, but she refused to allow herself that outlet, here in front of others. Haldir deserved a ward who was strong and dignified, one who would make him proud. One who knew how to conduct herself with decorum.

But she wanted to be in there with him, at his side where she belonged. She wanted this so badly that her jaw clenched and every muscle in her body went taut with purpose. She did not care what they said; she _would_ go in there. She took a single step forward . . . only to be stopped by a firm hand on her arm.

Healea stood there, her golden hair flowing over her shoulders, her gaze locked on Elanor. "Do not be foolish, Elanor. You cannot go in there. Come now and sit with me. Cothion and I will wait with you." Healea looked calm and composed, but real compassion shone clearly in those brilliant blue eyes. Behind her stood Cothion, his face grave and composed.

"I only want to see him," Elanor replied in a low, stubborn voice.

"You will see him when the time is right," Healea said sternly. "You must give the healers time to do their task. Right now he deserves privacy and dignity. And you must compose yourself so that you will be strong for him when you see him. It will not help him if you are weak. He deserves better than that."

Elanor lifted her chin. "I will be strong, Healea. I am not the weakling you think I am."

A hint of a smile curled Healea's lips. "I do not think you a weakling. I think you have many strengths, some of them hidden from us all. I also think you are the perfect match for Haldir. I know that you care for him deeply, and therefore this is a distressing situation for you, even more than for me. And that is why I will sit with you now, because that is what friends do."

"Thank you," Elanor said, with humble sincerity. And that was what she did—she sat on a bench with Healea on one side and Cothion on the other, and she waited, while the minutes passed and the courtyard slowly filled with more elves.

xxxx

To be continued . . . quite soon, since most of Chapter 26 is done.

Feedback always appreciated.


	26. Chapter TwentySix

Thank you to all of you who left reviews for that last chapter! We really appreciate your feedback! It's a good thing I split that last chapter off to make another chapter because this one ended up over 10,000 words! Hope you enjoy this new chapter and thank you for all your comments and support. Fianna and I are happy you are enjoying our fic. Hugs, J & F

xxx

**Chapter Twenty-Six**

Haldir woke to being prodded uncomfortably, a minor inconvenience amid the throbbing pain that had taken over most of his upper body. His eyes felt gritty, his eyelids too heavy to lift as he felt the light press of a hand against his forehead. A low voiceone he faintly recalled hearing in his sleepgrew more insistent, pulling him to wakefulness. He forced his eyes open and found Lord Elrond bending over him, murmuring a healing spell in his deep, rich voice. Celeborn and Galadriel were there too; the Lady of Light sat on the edge of the bed, her concerned gaze fixed on Haldir's face.

"Haldir," she said in her gentlest voice. "Can you hear me?"

"Aye," he muttered indistinctly. He attempted to lift a hand, but found he had no strength. What had happened? A battle . . . swords flashing . . . it was all a blur, the details indistinct. The intense pain was blotting out everything.

His lips had been moistened, and he knew someone had trickled a few drops of water on his tongue, yet his throat felt parched. He closed his eyes again in order to focus his thoughts. Elrond's chanting was starting to dispel his cloud of confusion, enabling memories to return in a rush of details—the battle with the Orcs, his brief moment of astonishment at his own faulty judgment, the grim determination with which he'd fought. The analytical side of his brain snapped to attention. He had grossly underestimated the number of the enemy. How? It was not the type of mistake he normally made. And what were the consequences? How many had died? And how much time has passed?

Elrond's chant ended, prompting Haldir to open his eyes. He found the Lord of Rivendell studying his face. "March Warden," he said gravely, "it is good to see you with your eyes open."

"How long?" Haldir rasped, through clenched teeth. He could not yet bear to ask his other questions.

It was Celeborn who answered. "Not long. The sun has only just set on the day you were injured. Your wardens travel swiftly." Haldir saw the Lórien lord beckon to the two healers standing nearby. They were among Lórien's best healers, second only to Celeborn and Galadriel, and of course Lord Elrond himself.

Galadriel rose and moved aside as the two came to stand beside the bed. "We cut away your tunic from your wounds," one of them told Haldir, "but Lord Elrond wished to draw you from your reverie before we did much more than change the splint on your broken arm." He paused. "We were all concerned by how deeply you were sleeping."

"And why," added the other healer, sounding puzzled. "Rúmil said you had refused a sleeping spell."

Haldir only returned his look, having no answer to the question.

Galadriel leaned over him, her hand brushing across his brow. "Rúmil said you fell asleep without a spell," she explained quietly. "Whatever the cause, it has allowed you to have some much needed rest." She straightened and stepped away from the bed. "I will go set a few minds at rest. Your brothers and your ward are waiting patiently for a report."

Haldir watched her leave, conscious of the calm she radiated to everyone present. Then her words settled in his mind. His brothers, patient? That seemed unlikely. Rúmil would be pacing and Orophin would be trying to hide his worry from Rúmil so he could reassure him. As for Elanor, he was glad they had not let her in; he did not want her to see him like this. He could only hope that the _indwaedh_ was doing its task and offering her comfort.

One of the healers carefully removed his boots, and then the two began to slice away what was left of his outer tunic. The long-sleeved black under-tunic soon followed and Haldir clenched his teeth and closed his eyes as they shifted him just enough to pull the pieces out from under him. He was relieved to be rid of them, for they stank of Orc blood and foulness, but the small movement caused him to flinch despite his best efforts.

Haldir opened his eyes to find Elrond gazing intently at his chest. "An _indwaedh,"_ he said, sounding rather taken aback. The two elf lords traded glances.

Elrond's fingers brushed over the translucent jewel while Celeborn held his hands just above Haldir's side in the region of his throbbing ribs. The resulting rush of healing warmth dulled his anguish to a more bearable level.

"I have not seen one of those for many years," Celeborn remarked in a meaningful voice.

Elrond nodded, his eyes now fixed on the wound in Haldir's right shoulder. "Indeed, they are rare." His tone revealed nothing. "There is muscle damage here that will take time to heal."

Haldir flinched as Elrond very gently pressed herbs into his wound. The two elf lords were using all their powers to give him strength and control his pain, yet he felt powerless, barely able to lift his hand.

"How long have you worn the _indwaedh_, Haldir?"

Haldir did not reply. Fingers were prodding him in all the places that hurt, causing him considerable pain despite Lord Celeborn's healing efforts. The other two healers had begun to bathe his lower extremities at the same time they examined his bruises and rubbed a healing salve into a few minor gashes. Haldir closed his eyes again. Silence predominated for a time while they all worked until at last he felt clean and then they gave him more water, a small amount he found most welcome.

"We will speak more of this later," Elrond commented. "Now you must rest. Your wounds are serious but not fatal. I see no sign of poison, but you have at least two and perhaps three cracked ribs as well as a broken arm. Your lung may be bruised, but I believe it is otherwise intact, and for that you are indeed fortunate. Take a deep breath."

Haldir obeyed, although it hurt a great deal.

"Good," Elrond said. "Keep doing that every so often. We will not bind your ribs; they will heal faster on their own. The wound in your side has been sealed with a special poultice. The wounds to your shoulders are more serious, but they too will heal. For now, you must lie as still as possible."

One of the healers was wrapping a long strip of white cloth around Haldir's right shoulder. His arm was propped on a pillow, enabling the cloth to be looped around and under his armpit. Haldir shut his eyes and drifted, listening to any remarks that were made while trying not to think about the pain.

"How long has he worn the _indwaedh_?" Elrond asked Celeborn in a low voice.

"Not long, I think. I was unaware that he had it."

"Who has the other?"

Haldir heard no reply, but he felt a touch on his hand and reopened his eyes.

The Lord of Lórien was looking down at him, his wise eyes on Haldir's face. "Haldir," he said, "We will speak of this another time. Rest now and heal." He then gestured to the two healers who promptly left the tent, although one paused long enough to scoop up Haldir's discarded clothing and take it with him. "I will arrange for you to be taken to a recovery talan a bit later," he added. "I do not want you alone in your own talan just yet."

"I would not be alone," Haldir muttered.

The Lord of Lothlórien paused at the door. "True, but I'd like to keep you close to the healers." He glanced at Elrond and departed.

Elrond returned to Haldir's side. "How do you feel?"

Haldir gathered his strength and took a deep breath. "Like a warg used me as a plaything." He drew another painful breath before adding, "What is this . . . about the_ indwaedh?_"

"Who has the other half?"

Haldir looked into Elrond's grey eyes and in them he saw more than casual curiosity. He looked expectant, as though he had already guessed the answer.

"Elanor." Haldir could not hide the defensive challenge in his voice.

"I see." Elrond wore an inscrutable look. "It will be interesting to see how your ward has changed since last I saw her." He gave a faint emphasis to the word 'ward'.

"She has changed, but only . . . to become more fully herself." Speech was difficult, but Haldir struggled to ignore the throbbing of his ribs and shoulders. If he had to, he knew he could make himself rise from the bed and walk right out of the tent, but there was no need, thank the Valar.

"Forgive me, I should not weary you with talk. We have much to say to each other, but it can wait." Before Haldir could reply, Elrond turned and left the tent.

A moment later, the flap was shoved aside and his brothers entered.

x

Orophin's first sight of his injured older brother shook him profoundly. Haldir's litter had been set directly onto the bed, suggesting that he was too wounded to be transferred from one surface to another. Haldir looked very pale and still, yet his eyes were open and he seemed alert. He lay covered by a soft white blanket, but his shoulders were revealed, both heavily bandaged, and his right arm was clearly splinted. Orophin had never seen Haldir in such a grim state; it seemed almost impossible to believe that anything like this could happen.

Fraught with strong currents of emotion, Orophin moved directly to one side of the bed while Rúmil went to the other. Both bowed their heads and saluted Haldir with their fists on their hearts, and then Orophin spoke.

"You fought well and bravely," he told Haldir solemnly. "No one could have done more. I am proud to be your brother."

"Tell me." Haldir's eyes were probing, his face taut.

Orophin understood his meaning at once. "You may rest easy," he replied, trying to sound reassuring. "No wardens lost their lives in this battle. All have reported in." Reluctantly, he added, "Rúmil and I discussed this while we waited, and we believe we have discovered how the Orcs got in. There appears to have been . . . a mix-up." To explain this to Haldir was difficult, but to withhold it would be worse, for he knew his brother's mind would find no peace until he knew the truth . . . and came to terms with it.

Haldir's piercing stare demanded clarification.

Orophin glanced at Rúmil, who made a small grimace and said, "I believe that two patrols were given conflicting orders." He paused, looking uncomfortable. "As a result, there was no one on guard at the point where the enemy entered our Wood. No one was there to stop them. They simply . . . walked in."

Disbelief showed on Haldir's face. His lips parted as though he would speak, and then came together again, pressed tightly. His eyes closed and a look of pain crossed his face, a sure indication that he understood. Haldir himself had issued those orders. Orders that no warden had thought to question. Orophin knew that Rúmil blamed himself for not noticing, for relying too much on Haldir's renowned infallibility.

"'Tis not your fault," Rúmil said in a low, fierce voice. "The fault is mine. I should have spoken with Rion and confirmed that all was as it should be. If I had, I would have realized what had happened. I would have questioned you."

Haldir shook his head very slightly.

"It is my responsibility to make the report," Rúmil went on with determination. "And I intend to bear my share of the blame."

"Not your fault," Haldir grated, his voice weak and harsh. "Mine."

"You never did like to share, did you?" Orophin put in, trying to inject a little lightness into the situation. "Rúmil was second in command, therefore he can share in the blame if he likes. By the Valar, Haldir, this is the first mistake you've made in a thousand years! I do not think the Lady is going to mete out punishment!"

"Of course not," Rúmil agreed. "You fought with honor and so did I, for that matter. She has never blamed you in the past when elves were slain. Why should she blame you today when the only one injured was you?"

Haldir lifted his fingers, enough to silence them both. "Where is Elanor?" He clearly had no wish to discuss this any further.

"She waits outside, with Healea and Cothion." Rúmil eyed him intently. "Elanor is most anxious to see you, but Galadriel bade the two of us speak with you first."

"Send Elanor in," Haldir commanded. "I wish to see her. The two of you can go."

Under normal circumstances Rúmil would likely have made some cheeky response, but not this day. Instead, he saluted with his hand on his heart again. "I will return soon. I have another matter that requires my attention."

"If it involves an elleth, I would wash first," Orophin advised, careful not to mention Nerwen by name. "You are covered with blood and stink. Not that it seemed to stop them all from embracing you out there in the courtyard. You are well loved by many, brother."

Rúmil glanced down at himself. "The blood has dried," he pointed out. "But you are right, I ought to bathe." No twinkle lit his eye, and Orophin thought he looked rather dejected.

"I will step outside, but I will be close at hand," Orophin informed Haldir. "If you want me, send Elanor to fetch me. I will be near. You will not be left alone. We will all lend you the strength you need to heal."

Haldir nodded, but said nothing more.

x

"Elanor," Healea said softly. "It is time."

Elanor had been sitting very still with her eyes closed, all her attention centered on the _indwaedh, _whose comforting vibrations brought Haldir to her, wrapping around her senses in a mesmerizing way that was almost physical. But Healea's words jolted her back, and her eyes shot open just in time to see Orophin emerge from the tent, right behind Rúmil. Near the tent's entrance stood Galadriel, who touched Rúmil's shoulder as he bowed and excused himself from her presence. Orophin returned to Doria's side.

Elanor swiftly rose to her feet, pausing only long enough to thank Healea and Cothion for their kindness before she made her way across the courtyard. Conscious of the Lady's thoughtful gaze, she forced herself to walk with dignity just as she had forced herself to sit still when she only wished to run to him. Waiting had been difficult, but she understood why his brothers were allowed to go in first; they were family and she was not.

"Elanor," the Lady said, just as Elanor reached Haldir's tent. "You can help him a great deal, child. Do what you feel is right and do not fear what others think."

Elanor nodded and bowed slightly. "I will, my lady. Thank you." She pushed aside the heavy white fabric and stepped inside.

His head was already turned in her direction as though he was expecting her, and for some reason this touched her heart more than anything could have done. She moved swiftly to his side.

"Haldir," she whispered, her voice wavering only slightly, "oh, my love, what have they done to you?" She leaned down and kissed his brow, then gently stroked his cheek while gazing deeply into his eyes. The _indwaedh_ seemed to throb more strongly than ever, as though attracted to its mate lying so close by on Haldir's chest.

"It is nothing, Elanor," he replied, with the tiniest smile. "I will heal." It was a flat statement, devoid of any doubt despite the weakness of his voice. His attention was wholly fixed on her, his eyes seeking hers as though he needed to see her.

She smiled back, a tremulous curve of her lips. "Of course you will. I will make sure you do. I am not going to leave your side until you are well."

"Then perhaps I should not get well," he whispered, still with a hint of a smile.

She bent down and kissed his lips. "No, you must get well. I will not permit anything else."

"So you are going to bully me."

"Yes, I am going to bully you," she agreed, very tenderly. "You will have to answer to me now, my dear guardian."

His eyes slid shut, but his mouth curved at the corners. "More than a guardian," he murmured.

"Much more," she whispered. Sharp emotion stabbed her as she studied his pale face, then turned her gaze to the bandages on his shoulders. The blanket hid the rest of his injuries from her sight. "Where else are you wounded?"

"Broken arm," he answered. "Two or three cuts. 'Tis nothing."

She did not believe him, of course. With a frown, she lifted the blanket off him, then pressed her lips together to keep from crying out. His entire torso looked like one gigantic black bruise. There were gashes and cuts everywhere; the largest ones had been sealed with a healing poultice she recognized as Elrond's work. There was a large slash across his right thigh and more bruises on his legs . . .

"Elanor, my modesty," he protested, his voice faint.

Drawing a deep breath, she quickly retucked the blanket around him. "Forgive me, Haldir, but I had to see." She kissed him again on the brow. "I had to see," she repeated as she reached for the hand of his unbroken arm. "As for your modesty, do you not think it is a little late for that?"

"Never too late." His fingers twitched, tightening around hers.

"I don't want you modest," she said lovingly. "I want you whole and healthy and in my bed."

"Lusty elleth." The words were almost inaudible, but she heard the underlying humor. He liked the silly things she was saying.

But it was hard to keep it up. She knelt down beside him and pressed her lips to his hand. "You will soon be well," she said with sudden ferocity. "I will care for you myself. I will do whatever it takes." She paused, unable to continue because of her intense emotion. Her chest actually ached with it.

She lowered her head and kissed each of his fingers, then rubbed her cheek against the back of his hand in an instinctive effort to soothe his pain and bring him ease. When next she looked he was asleep.

Without releasing his hand, she rose and reached to pull the chair closer to the bed. It was a purely functional piece of furniture, not comfortable at all, but she barely noticed. She was prepared to sit there for days if necessary. Whatever it took.

Very shortly thereafter, Lord Elrond reentered the tent. He said nothing to her, but came to stand over Haldir, assessing him with a critical eye while he pressed a finger to Haldir's temple and then to the side of his neck.

"He sleeps?" Elanor whispered, though she knew it was so.

Elrond nodded. "Indeed he does. A very deep sleep too. I think that may in part be due to your presence, Elanor. It brings him comfort and allows him to escape the pain. Now that he sleeps, I think this is a good time to move him."

"Where will you take him?"

"To one of the Recovery Telain. There are several in the lower reaches of the mallorn that bears Galadriel's home. It is at the heart of the city, and therefore the place with the greatest power. They are designed for peace and healing."

"I will go with him."

"You need not stay with him if you are weary. I believe he will sleep for some time."

"I will not leave him," she said stubbornly.

Elrond surveyed her with slightly raised brows. "I see." He glanced down once more at Haldir. "He will heal, Elanor. He lost a great deal of blood and he is weak, but he will regain his strength. He is strong."

"I know." She lowered her head. "I know it well. But still I will not leave him."

"I will not ask it of you," Elrond said quietly.

He turned and left the tent. A moment later two wardens entered and proceeded to lift the litter off the bed. Haldir never stirred as they left the tent. Elanor followed behind.

x

Dreams flooded Haldir's mind while he slept—dreams of battle, dreams of his childhood, dreams of Elanor. Once he dreamed that they were married and lived in Aman. Once, he dreamed that she left him, and that woke him up.

"Don't leave me," he whispered fretfully, still half caught within his dream. "Elanor, where are you?" It was the darkest part of the night, but there were lights within the talan and he soon saw her sitting beside him.

"I am here," she soothed. "I am holding your hand. Can you feel me?"

"I feel you," he said with relief. "Do not leave."

"I will not. I never will."

He drifted in and out of consciousness. Occasionally someone gave him a drink. It was no longer water they offered, but a honeyed liquid that he knew contained properties that dulled the pain. Elanor's presence helped too. He did not give the matter much thought, but he noticed that when she held his hand the pain receded and he felt drowsy. The _indwaedh_ throbbed in time with his heartbeat. Or was it hers?

The hours passed. Once he heard Rúmil's voice and once Orophin's, but he knew she was still there because she held his hand. Later, he heard Lord Celeborn's voice, and felt hands upon his body, once more drawing out the pain. More than once he heard Galadriel whisper in his mind, soothing and magical words spoken in her native Quenya.

And through it all, he always knew that his Elanor was there beside him.

x

Rúmil was bone-weary. It had been a long and difficult day, one fraught with physical exertion, thick emotion, and gut-wrenching guilt. The latter was the worst part; he kept thinking he should have realized what had happened, or questioned Rion, or at least have been able to reach Haldir's side a little sooner. From experience he knew such thoughts were futile, but that did not shut them off.

After leaving Haldir, he headed straight to the bathhouse, where he stripped off his filthy tunic and leggings, washed quickly, and borrowed one of the robes hanging there for the use of bathhouse patrons. He left his clothes in a corner to collect later, knowing he would be forgiven under the circumstances, and made his way up to his talan. He would have liked to go directly to Nerwen's home, but did not think that arriving with nothing on but a bathhouse robe would be the best course of action.

He entered his talan and was heading toward his sleeping chamber when something caught his eye. A carving. An archer no bigger than a hand and a half stood in the center of his dining table. Surprised, he walked over to it and picked it up, examining it closely. Had Orophin made it? It seemed extremely unlikely. He glanced around, but saw nothing to indicate who had placed it here.

He examined the carving from all angles. It was clearly the work of a beginner, and yet there was something about it that spoke of skill. The simple lines, the flow of it, the proportions and grace were all there, despite the trifling fact that the arrow's shaft was too short, and the arrow was set against the wrong side of the bowstring.

Putting it down carefully, he proceeded on into his bedchamber and glanced longingly at the bed. He needed rest, but would not allow himself that luxury quite yet. He wished to mark Haldir's condition once more, but first he desperately wanted to see Nerwen, if only for a few moments.

He threw on clean clothes and headed for her talan, but found it disappointingly empty. With a sigh, he mentally reviewed all the places she might be. He knew she sometimes walked at nighthe had seen her many timesbut had not followed her or observed where it was that she went. Pondering this, his thoughts returned to the little archer, and he wondered if Orophin could shed any light on that mystery. Could it possibly have anything to do with Nerwen? And why should that idea cross his mind?

With a last glance around Nerwen's front room, he decided to return to Haldir first, before he set out on what might be a time-consuming search for the elleth who haunted his thoughts. When he arrived at the recovery talan where they had taken Haldir, he found his brother in a deep slumber, his left hand encased by both of Elanor's, which Rúmil found oddly touching. He spoke to her briefly, stroked his fingers across his sleeping brother's brow, and left again. Outside, he encountered Orophin not far from the talan where Haldir lay. Orophin had stretched out on a bench and was lying on his back, his linked fingers behind his neck and one leg bent so that his knee pointed skyward.

Rúmil walked over to him. "There is a carving of an archer on my table," he stated, going straight to the point. "Is there something I should know, brother?"

Orophin gazed upward at the stars. "I am not supposed to tell you."

Rúmil heaved a sigh. "Orophin, please. I am far too tired for games. This day has been difficult. Just tell me."

So Orophin told him. By the time he finished, Rúmil's heart was soaring. At last, a ray of hope!

"Thank you, brother," he said, his voice low and even. "Thank you very, very much."

Off he went with renewed purpose, determined to find Nerwen. Where would she be? In one of the gardens? Or one of the places meant for quiet meditation so cunningly hidden in the lofty heights of the city? Was she with a friend? Or in a lover's arms?

This last possibility sobered him, but he refused to consider it. She had made that little archer for him; that must mean something. His jaw tightened with resolve. He would find her.

And he did . . . finally. He found her in the lily garden where Orophin's begetting day party had taken place. He knew it was she even though she faced away from him, her blonde head tilted upward to the stars.

"Nerwen," he said, walking swiftly over to her. "I have been looking all over for you."

She swung around, her face beautiful and pale in the starlight's soft glow. "Hello, Rúmil. How fares Haldir?"

He came to a halt an arm's length in front of her. "They say he will live," he said. "His injuries are serious, but not as serious as I first feared. His lungs are undamaged and . . . " His voice died away as he searched her face, noting her closed expression. "Why did you not come? Are you still angry?" When she did not respond, he added with confusion, "I found your carving. I went back and asked Orophin about it and . . . he told me you made it for me."

She made a little fluttering gesture and looked embarrassed. "It did not come out very well."

"I liked it," he stated, watching her closely. "Very much." His gaze roved over her hungrily, taking in the dark blue eyes, the slender nose, the full lips that he had never really kissed . . . properly.

"I missed you, Nerwen."

He knew he said the words aloud, yet they seemed to come from somewhere else, like a faraway echo slamming around inside his chest. His blood pounded hard, a shaft of raw desire spiking through him, driving away all rational thought. He forgot everythingeverything he knew he should not do was subsumed by an intense wave of longing for her, a longing to hold her, to kiss her and make love to her as he had never made love to anyone.

He moved without thinking, his arms reaching out to drag her against him, to take her to him as a lover would take his beloved. He only knew he wanted to explore herher graceful arms and full breasts and velvet soft skin. He was aggressive and he did not ask, and his grasp was not tentative. He covered her mouth with his, and for an all too brief moment, he knew what it felt like . . . and then she gripped his tunic with her fists and shoved him away. And then she punched him in the stomach, not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to make him stare at her.

"How dare you!" she said hotly. "You are worse than Lurien!"

It was the ultimate insult, and Rúmil was outraged. "I am not! How can you say such a thing?" He was weary and drained and, by the Valar, he wanted sympathy from her, not accusations and punches!

She only looked at him, her breasts heaving with emotion, her eyes filled with a reproach he felt he did not deserve.

"I love you!" he said with hostility.

"Nonsense," she shot back. "You only want to sleep with me."

"I do not!" He clenched his fists in frustration. "Well, yes, of course I do, but—"

"So you admit it!" she interrupted with apparent triumph, as though he had just confessed to a heinous crime.

He was growing madder by the moment. He glanced quickly around to be sure they were alone, then said, through grated teeth, "Of course I admit it. Is it likely I would fall in love with someone I didn't want to sleep with?"

She made a disdainful sound. "I imagine you fall in love with _everyone_ you want to sleep with, Rúmil."

"You are being absurd!" He was truly angry now. "I only want you. It may interest you to know that I have been celibate now for weeks, all because of you!"

She laughed. She actually laughed. He could not believe it.

"You doubt me?" he said grimly.

"I do not doubt you, Rúmil. If you say you have been celibate, then you have. What makes me laugh is your inference that a few weeks is a long time."

"It _is_ a long time!" He could find no words to express his fury. Instead, he seized her by the wrists and glared at her.

"Now what is this?" She nodded toward her imprisoned wrists, lifting her brows at him in a manner that reminded him uncomfortably of his mother. "Release me at once, Rúmil."

"I will not," he retorted. "Not until you listen to me."

She lifted her chin. "I have been listening to you."

"No, you have not! I tell you I love you, and you laugh in my face!"

"Because you behave like an elfling. You speak whatever words you think will bring you what you want." Like small arrows meant to prick his heart, she flung the words at him, and the thin cord of his temper snapped.

"That does it," he said wrathfully. Releasing one of her slender wrists, he bent down and flipped her facedown over his shoulder. No longer would he behave like a besotted fool; he would let her see another side of him. Perhaps she would discover that he was not what she thought.

"Rúmil!" she hissed. "Have you lost your mind? Put me down at once!"

He set off in the direction of his talan, ignoring the beating of her fists upon his lower back. At this point he had nothing to lose, and he did not want to continue this discussion out in the open where anyone might come by and overhear. Of course, carrying her over his shoulder like this might draw attention too, but it was night, and few elves were about save for a Sentinel here and there. Besides, it served her right.

Halfway to his talan, she transferred her blows to his buttocks. "Put me down this instant! How dare you behave like this! It is just as I saidyou conduct yourself like an elfling! Rúmil! Do you hear me? Are you listening?"

In answer, he smacked his palm down upon her own backside, not very hard, just hard enough to elicit an outraged yelp.

"You claim to love me!" she gasped.

"It is true," he fired back, sorely tempted to spank her again.

"This is how you choose to show it? I swear, Rúmil, if you drop me I will never speak to you again!" She actually sounded a little worried.

"I will not drop you, Nerwen." For some reason, he felt that he was making slight progress, and if he had not been so extremely displeased with her, he might have smiled.

She had given up hitting him, but her silence seemed filled with intense indignation and something else that he could not identify. Resignation? Acceptance? Or fury about to be unleashed?

Inside his talan, he set her on her feet and shut the door, barricading it with his body while he regarded her flushed face and sparkling, angry eyes. He thought she looked even lovelier than usual, but he knew better than to mention it.

"Well?" she said, thrusting her jaw out at him in a manner that might have made him laugh if he were not so angry and tired. "Now what?"

"Now we talk," he said curtly. He crossed his arms over his chest and glowered at her.

"You wish to talk." Her face was skeptical. "You are not going to throw me on your bed and attempt to seduce me?"

Rúmil stared at her, completely at a loss to understand the workings of her mind. Did he mishear, or was there a note of disappointment in her voice?

"I could," he said coolly. He weighed her with his gaze, noting the slight flush in her cheeks with increasing interest. He took a single step toward her and watched her reaction. "And I resent your attitude," he told her in a stern voice. "I have told you that I love you and you seem to think that is nothing."

"It is certainly not nothing," she said with constraint, "and I would be flattered if I thought it was true."

"Why do you not believe me?" he demanded. For a moment he'd thought he was making progress, but now he could feel himself growing aggravated again.

"Because I know you!" she burst out. "I have known you all my life. I have never seen any hint or sign that would allow me to believe that you would love only one elleth . . . or that it would be . . . me." Something in those last few words struck a chord in Rúmil's heart, but before he had time to analyze it she continued, "You are a flirt, Rúmil. A lovable, sweet flirt. You sleep with every elleth who smiles at you."

"Not any more! I told you that—"

"So you have been celibate for a few weeks," she cut in. "Do you think that is going to change anything?"

"Why not? It certainly changes things for me!"

"Oh, Rúmil, you are so . . ." She made a helpless gesture.

"So _what?"_ he said with belligerence. "Go on, Nerwen. What am I?" He made his tone menacing, something he had never done before with her or any other elleth. This was his hard-edged warrior side coming through, and he wondered what effect it might have on her.

Her blue eyes wavered. "I have never seen you like this."

"I am angry, Nerwen," he said tiredly. "But that does not mean I do not love you. I love you and I want you and . . . I will take no other to my bed. I want no one else."

"Oh, Rúmil." She was looking at him very strangely, and he could read the skepticism in her eyes. Clearly she required additional proof. He drew a deep breath, recalling the risky idea that had been haunting him for days. Should he do it? Warning bells shrieked in his head, asking him what in Mordor he thought he was doing, but he ignored them.

"Nerwen, if I do not take you to my bed then I will take no one at all, ever, and this I swear upon my honor, and upon the honor of the Lady Galadriel."

Nerwen's mouth fell open. "You cannot mean this," she said uncertainly. "You cannot swear such an oath."

"I just did," he countered. "And I mean it."

"Do you seriously expect me to believe," she said shakily, "that you will stay celibate for all eternity if I say you nay?"

Rúmil took another deep breath and nodded. "I do. I tell you, Nerwen, I want no other. I have made a vow and to that vow I will hold."

Slowly, she walked toward him, her incredulous gaze on his face. "I am starting to believe you are serious."

"I _am_ serious! You said you wanted to see me serious, so look at me!" He spread wide his arms. "I am sorry I cannot be the ellon you would like me to be, but I am as I am. Give me credit for sincerity as least. I offer you my heart, and if you deny me, then I will take no other to my bed. I have vowed it and I will not break that vow."

She stopped directly in front of him, her head tilting back to look him straight in the eye. "Rúmil, you cannot stay celibate for eternity. It would kill you."

"Most likely," he agreed, reflecting on this gloomily. "But I will manage. Unless I can persuade you to reconsider."

"Anything is possible," she said in a very low voice.

He was braced for another rejection, so her words caught him off guard. She sounded shy. He had never heard Nerwen speak shyly before. Always she was pragmatic and self-possessed, unruffled by anything or anyone.

He arched a brow, waiting for her to continue.

"And I think perhaps you misunderstood me. I never said I wanted you always to be serious. I only meant . . ." She paused, looking greatly flustered. "I only meant that I need you to be serious _occasionally. _You joke so much with everyone . . . with me. I want to know your deeper thoughts, the ones you conceal from everyone. I know you have them. You must."

"I can be serious," he said intently, "if that is what you wish."

She reached out and caught hold of his hand, clasping it between both of hers. "I also like you when you laugh, Rúmil. I have always liked that side of you. It is just that . . . I want to see more of you. I do not want you to change. I only want you to reveal more of yourself to me. And of course . . . to stop letting every elleth in Lórien put her arms around you."

"You do not want to share me with others," he said. "Nor do I wish to share you with others. I have learned that much about myself."

"Kiss me, Rúmil," she whispered, "and then I will leave you. I must have time to think. And you must attend to your brother. You should be with Haldir right now. Or resting. You look exhausted."

He slipped his arms around her waist and pulled her close, finally able to put his hands on her without fear of reprisals. She was warm and curvy and intoxicatingly lovely. "You know, when I say that you look pretty, I always mean it. But right now, Nerwen . . . my love . . . you look more beautiful to me than Elbereth herself. And that is the truth."

And he lowered his lips to claim hers.

x

Lurien sat in the darkest shadows of his terrace, enveloped in a chill black silence that put knots in the pit of his stomach. This whole business of Haldir being wounded unsettled him far more than he would have expected. They were saying that a mistake had been made, and that it was Haldir's fault that the Orcs had gotten into Lórien. This pleased him. How many times had he secretly wished for Haldir to make an error severe enough to call his judgment into question? However, to have Haldir so gravely injured was not and had never been something Lurien desired. He desired the death of no elf. Not even Haldir.

In any case, how could he seek his vengeance if Haldir was dead? What possible satisfaction would there be in that? Lurien wanted to best him, humiliate him, humble him. If Haldir were disgraced, it would be satisfying. If Lurien could by some means prove himself the better warrior, that would be exquisite. But Lurien did not want him dead. Every fiber of his being protested the idea.

So it was that when Lord Elrond had bidden him to fetch the satchel of herbs, Lurien had made all possible haste. He had gone straight to the talan used by the Peredhel, directly to the cupboard where the satchel had been stowed. He had been intent upon completing his task with the greatest possible efficiency.

That was when he had seen the letters lying on the table. Letters with Elanor's name on them.

Lurien had taken an instant to glance at them, his curiosity piqued. Both letters appeared to be from her family. Both were folded and sealed with a golden wax into which a family seal had been pressed. Elanor's family did not concern him except for one little matter. He had wanted to know exactly what Elanor had done to Haldir that would warrant the punishment she received. If he could just discover the truth, would it not be to his advantage? Could he perhaps use the knowledge somehow? Would the letters contain a clue?

He sighed in frustration, wishing he could get his hands on those letters. They most likely contained nothing of interest, but he would love to see them just in case.

Settling back against the smooth bark of the tree, he gazed upward at the night sky, his brooding gaze automatically seeking out the great star of Eärendil. His thoughts shifted, driven by the sharpness of his strange mood. Would he ever be free? He tried to envision a future without this festering hate, a future with Tarwë at his side, but it was so difficult. Would they one day sail west together? Would she bear his children? Or would she abandon him to his fate?

He did not know. Sometimes it felt like he was at the mercy of a river far greater than the Anduin, swept along by forces he did not understand and could never hope to control. He was but a mallorn leaf in the current, with no will of his own, no way to control his destiny or alter the course of his life. Intellectually, he knew this was false, and yet those thoughts remained, like the disagreeable aftertaste left by some bitter medicinal draught.

He shook his head, compressing his lips in thorough self-disgust. He loathed such thoughts and needed to escape from them. Only Tarwë could save him. He needed her. He needed to bury himself in her softness, to feel her loving arms around him, to breathe in her heady, irresistible scent. Of all the ellith he had known, she was the only one who had that effect on him. He was bewitched and he was in love. And what did it avail him?

x

The morning came and Haldir opened his eyes. His pain was marginally less, but the night had seemed endless, riddled with disturbing dreams. Again and again he had fought the Orcs, each time knowing that wardens were dying because of him, because of his mistake. The knowledge haunted and shamed him. How many times had he awakened? Each time he had found Elanor beside him. Each time she had soothed him back to sleep, and then he had dreamed again, sometimes of death and blood, sometimes of life and Elanor.

He looked over at her now. Her eyes were shut and her head drooped so that her chin almost touched her chest, but she was still there beside him, still holding his hand.

"Elanor," he said, and squeezed her fingers.

She stirred and opened her eyes, her gaze immediately seeking his. "Good morning," she said softly.

"You are weary," he said, studying her carefully. "Go now and take your rest."

She shook her head. "I will not leave you." She bent down and kissed his brow. "I will have them bring a cot for me when I am tired."

He gazed at her in slight bemusement, touched by her dedication to him. He had not expected that she would stay with him like this. He knew she cared for him, but until this moment he had not realized just how unswerving her devotion was. He wondered if he deserved it, if he was worthy of such loving care. Could he be for Elanor what she needed him to be? For an instant his thoughts drifted back to Healea and her betrayal, and then he pushed aside that old memory. It had no meaning now. Elanor was not Healea. Elanor was . . . Elanor. His own.

"Even so," he said, trying to sound authoritative, "you must walk around a bit and stretch your muscles. You have not moved the entire night."

She ignored him. Instead, she gently disengaged her fingers from his and reached for the goblet on the table near his bed. "Drink," she commanded, "and stop issuing orders." She slipped her hand beneath his head and urged him up just enough so that she could pour a small portion of the healing draught between his lips. "Does this help?" she asked, after he had swallowed some of it. "They told me it would take away the pain."

"It helps a little," he said, feeling the warm rush of liquid spreading through his insides. It reminded him of another need. "I must sit up."

"Haldir, you must not! You are to lie still and not move."

"I must rise. There is something I must do."

"Absolutely not, I will not allow it. Stop, what are you doing?" she protested as he struggled to lift himself. "What could be so important? Whatever it is, can it not wait?"

"I have been ignoring it all night, Elanor. But nature's call can only be ignored for so long." He grabbed her wrist with his left hand, his teeth clenched against the stabbing pain in his shoulders and ribs.

"Oh." She quickly steadied him, watching him closely while he drew several deep breaths in an effort to clear his spinning head. "Well, you cannot get up. Wait there, and I will bring the pot to you."

Haldir sat on the edge of the bed, feeling nauseous and dizzy. "You don't have to stay and watch," he said wryly. "I can manage."

"I have already seen all your body parts," she replied, sounding a little exasperated. "You are not going to shock me. Now do it quickly, because you need to lie down again before you faint. Your face is stark white."

Despite everything, Haldir almost laughed. "Yes, my lady," he said meekly. He emptied his bladder and watched her set the pot aside, then her gentle hands helped him to settle himself upon his back again. "Thank you, Elanor," he murmured. "You are the first female since my mother to witness that spectacle."

"I expect you would do the same for me," she said in a matter-of-fact voice. "To be able to help you in any way, Haldir, is a privilege. There is no need to be embarrassed."

He smiled slightly, trying to think of something clever to say, but all he really wanted was to lie still and rest. Movement had escalated the pain, he was tired and shaky, and he did not want to talk.

Elanor tucked the blanket around him again, placed a soft kiss on his lips, and then picked up the chamber pot and carried it out of the talan. A moment later, she returned, minus the pot. "I gave it to Orophin," she informed him. "I do not think he was too pleased, judging by the look on his face. He was about to come in and visit. I told him he might as well make himself useful in another capacity. After all, he is your brother."

"Elanor," Haldir said faintly, "you are incorrigible."

x

The next time Haldir opened his eyes, Elrond and one of the Lórien healers was standing beside his bed. At once he realized that the touch of the elf-lord's fingers was what had awakened him. Haldir said nothing while Elrond made a thorough examination of his wounds despite the fact that Elanor was watching. He wondered if they had exchanged words while he was asleep, and if so, why they had not awakened him. Normally the slightest sound roused him.

Elrond said little, his noble countenance displaying no hint of his thoughts while he pressed fresh herbs into the gaping wounds in Haldir's shoulders and rewrapped them in fresh linen. He examined the wound by his damaged ribs, but the poultice was still intact and, according to both Elrond and the healer, the surrounding area showed no signs of inflammation or cause for concern.

"Considering the gravity of your wounds," Elrond said finally, "you are doing well. That does not change the fact that you must lie still and rest for many days to come. Your complete healing will take weeks."

Haldir did not speak, for his thoughts dwelled less on his injuries than on the ramifications of his mistake. Would his wardens ever trust him again? Would Celeborn and Galadriel? Ought he to resign from his position as March Warden and let another take his place?

Perhaps Elrond guessed some of this, for he turned to Elanor and said, in a kind but unyielding voice, "You will leave us now, Elanor. I wish to speak to your guardian alone. Go and wash, eat and change your clothes, then you may return."

Haldir wondered if she would argue, and was relieved when she did not. She did, however, hesitate long enough to cause him a moment's unease, but in the end she touched her hand to her heart and left the talan without protest. The healer also left.

"She cares for you like a she-wolf protecting her cub." Elrond's gray eyes held a glimmer of amusement. "You being the cub," he added dryly. "'Tis a new role for Lórien's March Warden."

Haldir knew not what to say so he remained silent under Elrond's steady regard. After a few moments, the Peredhel seated himself on the chair beside the bed. "How is the pain?" he inquired.

"Not bad," Haldir lied.

"It lessens when she is near?"

"Yes," Haldir acknowledged a bit unwillingly. "When she holds my hand." The admission seemed a weakness, but he could not lie about that.

Elrond's gaze pierced him. "You know why, do you not?"

"Tell me." Haldir stared back, masking the strength of his curiosity.

"In part it is the _indwaedh_. Its effect strengthens under certain conditions."

"And those are?"

Instead of answering, Elrond reached slowly into the neckline of his tunic and withdrew a jewel very similar to Haldir's own, only this one was a soft and pale blue. "I have worn this for many years," he said in a low, calm voice. "Ever since my Celebrían sailed into the West. It was gifted to us by her mother, the Lady Galadriel." He did not speak for a long moment, but only gazed down at the jewel with immeasurable sorrow in his eyes. Then he slipped it back inside his robe and resumed his impassivity. "It has given me great comfort over the years. One day I will be with her once more, and when that day comes I will reunite the two _indwaedh_ into the _ind-mir _from which they came. And then I will gift it to another, for we will no longer have need of it."

"You have much faith," Haldir said quietly. "And great courage."

"I have love, Haldir. Our love was strong, though Celebrían was not. It lies as deep and true within my heart as it did the day I married her and took her for my own. She knows this as much as I do." He paused. "Why did you give the _indwaedh_ to Elanor?"

Haldir fought an urge to twitch. "I thought to ease her concern for me. We . . . care for each other a great deal."

Elrond leaned back into the chair, resting his elbows on the arms. "I see." His eyes seemed fathomless. "How long have you worn it?"

"Two weeks," Haldir admitted reluctantly. He did not like answering so many personal questions.

"Only two weeks." Elrond shook his head. "Haldir, to wear an _indwaedh_ is to put oneself under the dominion of powerful magic. A magic more powerful than you apparently realize." He clasped his fingers together and rested his chin on the tips. "It takes time to adjust to its influence. Did no one tell you this? Where did you get the _ind-mir_? Who gave it to you?"

"My mother." Haldir could feel himself growing defensive.

"I see." Elrond's brows drew together. "She must not have understood. Not being a warrior, she would not have been as conscious of its distracting influence. Or perhaps she wore it so long that she forgot how it was in the beginning."

"What are you saying?"

"I am saying that an _indwaedh_ affects one's mind, as well as one's senses and reflexes. To put it plainly, you returned to the Fences far too soon. It was a mistake that could have been fatal."

Deeply disturbed, Haldir frowned, acutely aware of the subtle hum in his mind. Even now, it distracted, weaving sweet images of Elanor into his restless thoughts. Had he endangered himself and his wardens with his impetuous decision to make use of this jewel He normally prided himself on his judgment. Were his feelings for Elanor interfering with his ability to lead?

"You found your thoughts wandering to her at the oddest moments?"

"Yes," Haldir muttered. "Too often."

"To expect to proceed as usual was hopeless from the start. Eventually one grows used to it, but it can take weeks, or even months. I suspect it was what sent you to your sleep while you were on the litter. That, and Elanor herself," Elrond added enigmatically.

"I was a fool," Haldir said bitterly. "I endangered myself and my wardens." The knowledge sickened him.

Elrond's penetrating gaze bored into him. "If it had been anyone else, I might agree, but your mind is strong. I can feel it. Your strength of will is almost as powerful as the jewel's magic."

Haldir closed his eyes, but it could not block out his guilt.

"While you heal and recover your strength, you will have time to adjust to the _indwaedh's _influence. It enables you to connect with Elanor, and that will hasten your healing."

"I cannot wear it. I dare not risk it."

"To remove it would be unwise now that your fëa has been in contact with it for two weeks. To sever the link at this time would greatly weaken you. I cannot advise it." Elrond paused. "Instead of dwelling on what cannot be undone, you must decide what will you say to Elanor. She must be told."

Haldir considered this with dismay. How could he tell Elanor about this? He knew her well enough to know that she would feel personally responsible for his injury. Yet he could not conceal this from her. He owed her the truth. He owed his brothers and his wardens the truth. And he certainly must confess all to the Lord and Lady. He would not hide the facts.

"All I wanted was to feel her near me when we are parted," he said bleakly.

It was an admission he would not normally have made; he seldom shared his feelings with anyone beyond his family, and of course Elanor. But just now depression had him by the throat and his defenses were few.

"You _will_ adjust, Haldir. The _indwaedh_ is an uncommon possession, but there are others who wear them and some of them are warriors. Ultimately, the jewel's emanations join with the fëa and it becomes a part of you. You feel the connection without it taking over your mind and your thoughts. In three or four months you will feel wholly normal."

"So this is your counsel to me? I should continue to wear the jewel even though it nearly cost me my life?"

"By the time you finish healing and regain your full strength, the adjustment period will be over. My counsel to you is to focus on healing and stop blaming yourself for this incident."

"That is difficult," Haldir said, striving for a dispassionate tone.

"I know it is." Elrond's voice was not unkind, yet it also held force. "You fear you have lost respect among your people, but I sense you will find that is not the case. Rather, you will have gained something significant."

"And what is that?" Haldir asked, unable to conceal his skepticism.

Elrond leaned forward. "You have acquired quite a reputation over the years. You are formidable, exacting, and scrupulously capable. You make no mistakes. You are respected and you are intimidating. And now you have made a mistake. Do you think your people will blame you and scorn you? Nay, Haldir. They have only discovered that you are not perfect. Will that shock them? Will it diminish your ability to lead? I do not think so."

Haldir gazed at Elrond, listening intently.

"It will make you more approachable, and it will remind them of their responsibility to you. It is not necessarily a good thing to be considered infallible. Dependable, yes. But perfect? They should trust you and follow your orders, but they should bear in mind that you are not flawless. None of us is. This will knock you off your pedestal, at least for a time, and put you on a more even ground with your wardens. It will remind them that you are as real as each of them. You love and bleed and feel just as they do. And you give the best of yourself to the land you love, to Lórien and its people. You are a leader they can be proud of, March Warden. And that has not changed."

"I wish I could believe that," Haldir murmured.

Elrond straightened. "How ironic that you are known for your arrogance. I see little of that in you right now. Instead, I see humbleness. Celeborn was right."

Haldir flushed, but said nothing.

"Shall I tell you why the pain lessens when she holds your hand?" Elrond's face suddenly seemed a bit mischievous. "Or would you rather wait and discover it for yourself?"

"Tell me." This time Haldir tried not to sound as demanding as he had before.

Elrond smiled. "I saw it back in Rivendell the morning I spoke to you in my office. Elanor is your destiny, March Warden. And you are hers. It is why I punished her as I did. The Valar whispered in my ear and I listened."

Haldir was at a loss for words, but fortunately the Peredhel did not seem to require any. He simply rose and walked to the door, where he paused and glanced back.

"Rest and heal, Haldir, and cease your brooding. An _indwaedh_ does not come to one by happenstance. It is a gift from the Valar, and such gifts are not to be taken lightly."

To be continued... Feedback appreciated!

_ind-mir_- heart jewel, _indwaedh_ - heart-bond

_ellon_ - male elf (singular), _elleth_ - female elf (singular), _ellith_ - female elf (plural),

_telain_ - plural form of talan


	27. Chapter TwentySeven

Thank you to all our reviewers! This new chapter is 10,000+ words and I hope that makes up in some small way for the length of time between updates. -J&F

x

**Chapter Twenty-Seven**

Elanor hurried a bit wearily up the numerous steps to do as Lord Elrond had suggested—to wash and change and eat as quickly as she could. She did not like to leave Haldir even briefly, but she knew better than to argue with the Lord of Imladris--unless it was absolutely justified, which in this instance it was not. In any case, she had seen the compassion in those wise gray eyes, and knew that he had Haldir's best interest at heart. Whatever he had to say to her guardian, it would be kindly expressed.

As she sped along, a number of elves stopped her to inquire about Haldir's well being, and although she was anxious to continue, she paused and gave to each a courteous answer. It was heartwarmingly clear that Haldir commanded, not only the respect of his people, but their caring and loyalty as well. The knowledge swelled her heart with pride and love for him.

Arriving at Haldir's talan, Elanor was halfway through the front room when her gaze fell on the three plants still sitting atop the cabinet. Their leaves drooped, telling her they had picked up on her tension and worry, and she took a moment to reassure them before heading on into the bedchamber to freshen up. After that, she went to the kitchen to find herself some food while pondering what Haldir might be able to eat. She wished she had thought to ask Lord Elrond or Haldir himself. Perhaps some soup?

As she was about to exit the talan, her gaze returned to the plants, and on impulse she picked them up and took them with her. When she reached the healing talan where Haldir lay, Lord Elrond stood outside, a short distance away from the entrance. "Elanor," he said as he caught sight of her descending the nearest set of steps. "A moment, if you please."

Elanor walked over to him, clutching the plants to her chest. "Yes, my lord?" She waited for him to speak, conscious of the encompassing scope of his perusal. This elf could see so much with just a glance, and right now he was looking at her very closely.

"You have grown," he observed. "You shine in a way that I have never seen you shine. The change in you is remarkable."

"If that is so," she said honestly, "then I owe it to Haldir, and to his brothers and the Lady Galadriel, as well as others. You were right to punish me as you did. This experience has been beneficial in ways you might never guess." She stumbled a bit with the last sentence, thinking of all the hidden meanings behind it.

"So I have ascertained," the Elf-Lord said dryly. "You appear to have overcome your antagonism toward your guardian. I am glad."

Elanor bit her lip, embarrassed by the memory of her childish behavior. "My lord," she said humbly, "I would like to apologize for the way I conducted myself back in Imladris. I behaved like a spoiled child rather than the adult I am. I have no excuses, but I am truly sorry."

Lord Elrond inclined his head. "No apologies are needed, Elanor. It was time I fulfilled my responsibilities toward you, something I should have done sooner. I am pleased to find that my decision was sound." He paused, eyeing the plants in her arms with a rather peculiar smile. "Go on, then. He is waiting for you. You and I will speak more later."

Elanor took a moment to inquire about Haldir's diet and then bowed her head and continued on into the talan. Haldir had clearly heard her voice, because he was looking expectantly in her direction when she entered, his eyes seeking hers just as they had the day before. Then his gaze went to the plants.

"Ah, I see I have visitors," he remarked, a bit weakly.

Elanor looked around for a place to put them. "Yes, I was only going to bring one, but they all wished to come along."

She rounded the bed and set them on the table, arranging them so they did not interfere with Haldir's goblet with its pain-suppressing draught. She made sure to set the elanor plant nearest to the bed, and then turned her attention to Haldir, studying him carefully. His face was less white than it had been earlier, but he still did not look like himself. His hair wanted combing, and she could see pain in his eyes, although she knew he was trying to hide it from her.

"I suppose they were worried about me." His hand moved with his small jest, as if he meant to reach out for her but lacked the strength.

Elanor dropped a kiss on his brow and sat down, wrapping her fingers around his just as she had done during the long hours of the night. "Actually, they were. They sensed my concern and became fearful, so I had to explain because, well, they worried it was something to do with them."

Haldir contemplated this information. "What did you tell them?"

"That you were injured." She brushed a strand of hair from his cheek. "They were horrified."

"I suppose they think someone stepped on me," he said wryly.

"Not exactly. They know you are not a plant. I told them . . . " She paused, trying to put into words something that she had used images to convey to the plants. "I told them one of your stalks was broken, but you would recover."

"You had better tell them my stamen is intact. I refuse to be the owner of misinformed plants."

"I am glad you still have your sense of humor. How do you feel?"

His mouth twisted ruefully. "Like someone stepped on me."

Elanor frowned and reached for the goblet with her free hand, but Haldir halted her with a squeeze on her fingers. "No more of that just now, Elanor. I want to talk to you."

"I think you should rest. We can talk later."

"I wish to talk now."

"But Haldir--" she objected.

"Be silent, Elanor. There is something I must tell you, and it wearies me to argue."

Elanor studied him with concern. "I am sorry, Haldir. I will listen."

"It is about the indwaedh," he said.

x

Túre awoke that morning feeling strangely exultant. For a moment she could not recall why, and then she remembered the daisy. At once she turned her head and saw it, still fresh and lovely in its fragile glass vase.

"Who brought you to me?" she whispered.

She stared at the daisy as if willing it to provide her with answers, but of course it did not. Idly, she reached out and touched one of its petals, admiring its simple beauty with silent reverence.

Perhaps it meant nothing and she placed too much importance on it. Perhaps it was not one of the Imladris Elves who had left it at her door, but instead one of her friends, thinking to comfort her . . . or play a joke on her. An unpleasant thought struck her. What if it had been Gwirith? Gwirith did not like her. Gwirith could have seen her pluck the daisy, and her sense of humor was rather frivolous. To add to this, Gwirith would not have known that Túre left the daisy on the rock, and that meant that the daisy Túre had plucked would still be there where she had left it.

Túre's spirits plummeted as she considered how many elves she had probably offended over the years with her sullenness. This daisy could easily be a sample of someone's ill will rather than a romantic tribute. For a moment she brooded about this possibility, then she shook her head. No, she had sworn to herself that she would seek the light, and that meant taking control of her thoughts before they wandered down familiar paths into those dark places she knew too well.

Rising from her bed, she stretched her arms above her head and then on impulse went to her mirror and looked into her own blue eyes. How would a newcomer see her? What would an ellon notice when he saw her for the first time? She dragged her fingers through her silvery blonde hair as if to ascertain its softness to her fingertips . . . or to another's. She touched her lips, those lips that had known no kisses for such a very long time. How would it feel to be embraced again by strong masculine arms? And was she being foolish to have these thoughts? Would they not dangerous?

The image of the two handsome Imladris elves returned to her, and she closed her eyes, the better to view them in her mind's eye. Both so striking and doubtlessly charming as well. Had one of them brought her the daisy?

Suddenly, she was seized with an irresistible urge to return to the little footbridge where she had last seen them, and to follow the path to the rock where she had placed her flower. No, that was silly. Why should she?

Why not? Why should she not do it? She could go after she fulfilled her early morning duty in the kitchens.

Still feeling silly, she forced herself to wash, comb her hair and dress, taking her time as though by the very act of following her usual leisurely routine, she could restore composure to her mind. And it did help. A little.

So it was that by the time she left her talan her heart was beating at its normal rate and her face showed no sign that anything momentous might have transpired in her long and lonely life. No one could possibly guess where her thoughts traveled . . . or where her dreams had gone the night before.

x

Elanor sat very still, shaken to the foundation of her being by what Haldir had just explained to her. She felt cold on the inside, as though shards of ice had worked their way down her throat and become trapped. "So . . . it is my fault?" she said tentatively. "It's my fault that you were injured?"

"No, Elanor, of course not. The fault is mine." Although his voice was tight, he gave her fingers a reassuring squeeze.

Filled with remorse, she could not meet his eyes. "But if it had not been for me, it would not have happened."

"You cannot know that. Elanor, heed my words. I tell you about this because I will not hide the truth. I made a mistake, but you are not at fault." He paused for a moment. "I would not change what I did. I would give you the indwaedh all over again."

She glanced up in surprise. "Do you speak truly?"

"You question my word?"

She saw anger in his eyes, and at once realized how much anxiety he must be suffering, how consumed he must be with frustration and guilt. This anger was not directed at her but at himself.

She leaned closer, not shying from his gaze but rather seeking it. "No, of course I do not doubt your word, dear Haldir. But I care for you so much," she explained, her voice hitching a little, "and to think for one moment that your life was at risk because of me . . . it hurts more than you can imagine. And so I cannot understand why you say that about the indwaedh." She felt a tear trickle down her cheek and, a little embarrassed, she wiped it away quickly.

All signs of Haldir's anger vanished, replaced by obvious concern and gentleness. "Do not cry, Elanor. According to Elrond, while I heal I will also adjust to this indwaedh so that what happened . . . cannot happen again. And since I will not be returning to the Fences for some time, I mean to put that time to good use." He paused, his gaze making a little tour of her face. "I mean to court you properly."

With these words, Elanor became abruptly conscious of the steady beat of her heart. Such sweet words, and to hear them spoken at such at moment filled her with powerful emotions. "That would please me," she whispered.

Despite his injured shoulder, he lifted his left arm from the elbow high enough to touch her chin with the back of his index finger. A faint smile played at the corners of his mouth. "Elanor," he said softly. "My sweet flower."

She was about to kiss his fingers when the opening of the door diverted her attention, halting her a moment before she could do so. Into the talan walked the two healers who had assisted Lord Elrond the day before, one holding the door for the other, who carried a large washbasin filled with something most agreeably scented. Both were dressed in long pale robes and wore stern expressions on their faces.

"Yes?" Elanor looked at them inquiringly.

The first healer ignored her and addressed himself to Haldir. "We are here to bathe you," he said a bit stiffly. "Your ward will have to leave."

Elanor rose to her feet. "Leave the water, please. I will see to his bath."

"Elanor," Haldir said quietly.

"I will do it," she repeated, meeting the healer's cool blue eyes. "I am caring for Haldir now."

"My lady," the healer objected with a look of disapproval. "It is not fitting."

"I do not care if it is fitting. Please leave it and I will see to him."

The second healer was also frowning, but at least he answered her directly. "Lord Elrond requested that we bathe him. He put special herbs into the water meant to strengthen and invigorate, and to promote his healing."

Elanor surveyed these two elves. She did not know either of them, though one looked vaguely familiar. "Thank you for bringing the water, but I am quite capable of caring for him," she said stubbornly. "If you could arrange to have some clear broth brought to us, that would also be welcome."

She heard Haldir mutter something beneath his breath.

The healer holding the basin walked around the bed and eyed with disfavor the plants taking up most of the room on the table. "If you would be so good as to clear those away," he said loftily, "I might be able to set this down."

Elanor shifted the plants and relieved him of the basin, setting it down on the table herself. The other healer held a pile of clean linens, and these she also took, placing them on the foot of the bed. "Please tell Lord Elrond that Elanor will see to Haldir's bath. I think he will understand."

The two stiff-faced elves surveyed her without betraying their thoughts. "I will do so," said the first, his tone careful and formal. He bowed to Haldir and left the talan, the other healer behind him.

Haldir sighed and closed his eyes. "Elanor, what am I going to do with you?"

"Now why do you say that? I can bathe you as well as they can." She nearly added that Galadriel herself had bidden her to do what she felt was right and not care what people thought.

"Perhaps so, but you do not know those elves. The one who brought the water is called Hírion, and he is a worse gossip than any elleth."

Elanor shook her head and sighed. "Let him talk. I do not care." She might have taken him to task for the latter part of this statement, but he looked so pathetically pale and helpless that she decided to let it go. "I suppose you think I was being too willful."

Haldir's eyes remained shut. "Let us not dwell on it now." Something in her tone made her wonder if he might mention the subject again later.

"How is the pain?" she asked.

"I hardly notice it when you are here," he said, but his face belied the statement. It was plain for her that their conversation had taken a toll on him.

"Oh, Haldir," she murmured, taking hold of his hand. She bent down and kissed his wrist. "Let me bathe you and it will help. Lord Elrond knows so much about healing, and whatever is in the water smells wonderful."

"Very well," he said faintly. "Just be careful."

"I will," she promised. "Of course I will." She dipped one of the small cloths into the water, squeezed it over the bowl, and began her task.

Haldir lay silent, torn between wanting her to proceed and wishing she would not. On the one hand the water was soothing . . . the herbs in the water assuaged his hurts and appealed to his senses, both with their scent and with the way they felt upon his flesh. On the other hand, her touch made him long for things he would be better off not thinking about right now.

Elanor had lifted the blanket away from his left leg and was gently washing him from thigh to foot. He bent his leg upward to give her access to the underside, enjoying the way the water's coolness removed his focus from the aching pain of his injuries. He allowed his mind to drift on a sea of peaceful sensations while she completed that leg and went on to the other one.

She washed his arms next, and then his chest, very carefully and gently. He could feel the rejuvenating effect of the herbs, pushing him toward reverie despite his tingling flesh. The indwaedh surrounded him with an ineffable shelter against the pain, its magic weaving its way into his heart and mind. Elanor . . . he could feel her so completely even when she was not touching him. His thoughts drifted on drowsy currents of pleasure amid the background haze of pain. They were linked . . . Elrond had said she was his destiny . . . did she know this? Who would be the one to tell her? Would it please her to know this? Or would it overwhelm her?

"I wish I could roll you over and wash your back," she commented, "but that would not be a good idea just yet."

"Definitely not," he mumbled, trying not to imagine how much that would hurt. He also tried not to think about where the cloth was heading as she shifted the blanket off his lower torso. To offset what she was doing, he forced himself to think about the battle and his own stupidity, not a pleasant line of thought, but it served to get him through this part of his bath without any noticeable relocation of his body parts. "Thank you, Elanor," he murmured when she was done. His voice sounded far off and rather thick, at least to his own ears.

"You are welcome," he heard her whisper. "Rest well. I will not leave you." He felt her lips press against his brow as he slipped into a gentle sleep. And when the dreams came, they were exceptionally pleasant.

x

Nerwen sat on a low bench in a shady garden that was seldom visited because of its tiny size, still reflecting upon Rúmil's extraordinary behavior and astonishing vow. At least she knew that his brother's injuries were neither fatal nor permanent; such glad tidings relieved her of the fear that had been weighing her down—-fear and dread that her beloved Rúmil would suffer another terrible loss. Losing Ainon had been dreadful enough for him, but to lose one of his brothers would be unbearable. Not to mention how it would affect poor Elanor, and all the others who loved the March Warden. Nerwen herself had warm feelings for Haldir, although those feelings could not compare to what she felt for Rúmil.

She stretched out her legs and stared at her bare toes while she pondered the sudden change in their relationship. Never in her wildest dreams had she expected him to behave in such a fashion. He loved her! He wanted only her and no one else!

And she _did_ believe him. Truly. For Rúmil to make such a vow—-such a ridiculous vow—-it was enough to banish all her doubts. Or at least most of them. One tiny doubt remained, though it was not troubling her a great deal.

What uncanny twist of fate made that the moment he found her? A slight movement brought her head up just in time to see him enter the garden and stop the moment he saw her. "Nerwen," he said, the beginnings of one of his beguiling and irresistible smiles tipping the corners of his mouth. "I wondered which garden you were hiding in this time."

She smiled back at him, noting how much more rested he looked than the night before. "I was not hiding, Rúmil. I was reflecting."

His smile lingered in his blue eyes as he closed the distance between them and stood looking down at her. "About anyone in particular?"

She returned his gaze, conscious of him in a way that she had never been before. He seemed taller, larger, more formidable and masculine, which made no sense since she had always found him masculine and highly attractive. But never more than now.

"About you," she said truthfully.

"Indeed." Looking pleased, he sat down beside her, and she noticed for the first time that he held a small, familiar-looking pouch. "I told you once before that you had a secret. I never told you what it was."

She tilted her head, captivated by his manner. "What is my secret, Rúmil?"

"You love me," he said, his tone oddly gentle. "I know you do. Not as a brother or companion, but as one who is closer still."

For a long moment, Nerwen did not speak, then at last she said, in a very low voice, "Yes, that is true. I do love you, Rúmil, in the way that you say. I have never, ever thought of you as a brother. I lied to you about that."

"I know," he said simply. "But I needed to hear you say it. I have a gift for you, Nerwen. I expect you can guess what it is."

"Perhaps I can. Whatever it is, I am honored."

His lips curved upward. "Much better," he approved. "That's a vast improvement over being told that I am undisciplined and fickle and . . . what was the other word you used?"

"Capricious," she filled in penitently.

"Ah yes. And then there was 'childish, unreliable and wild'."

Nerwen knew she was flushing. "Forgive me for saying such hurtful words, Rúmil. It was so wrong of me."

"Of course I forgive you. I would forgive you anything. All I ask is that you love me as I love you. And accept my gift to you this time." He put the pouch into her hand and looked at her hopefully.

Nerwen's hands shook slightly as she removed the carving from the pouch. Tears seeped from her eyes as she took in the graceful female deer bent down to nuzzle the young fawn. "It is beautiful," she said unsteadily. "I do accept it, and I will cherish it always."

He gave an endearing little grin. "And I will cherish your carving also."

She shook her head. "It did not turn out the way I wanted. I almost did not give it to you at all. It was supposed to look like you, Rúmil, but there is something not quite right about it though I could not see what I should change."

"Nay, it is perfect," he said loyally. "I could not ask for a better gift from the elleth I love."

"Truly?" she asked anxiously.

"Truly. It was carved with care and gifted with love. What more could I ask?"

She arched a brow, waiting for the inevitable, but he only smiled at her, his eyes twinkling merrily. "Rúmil," she said, "you amaze me sometimes."

"Why?" he asked, a trace of laughter in his voice. "Are you waiting for me to be capricious and wild? Perhaps you are hoping that I will throw you over my shoulder again."

"No, I am not," she said firmly. "It was uncomfortable and embarrassing, and I should still be most annoyed with you."

"But you are not annoyed because you saw another side of me and liked what you saw. I merely seek to understand you," he added quickly, as though fearing he had given offense.

"It pleased me in some ways, yes," she admitted, after a brief hesitation. Keenly aware of his scrutiny, she surprised herself by blushing.

Rúmil wrapped his hand around hers and gave it a little squeeze. "Pleasing you is all I want to do. In every possible way."

Nerwen smiled. Rúmil was still Rúmil, after all, but his statement did not trouble her, as it once would have done. Holding the carving carefully, she rose to her feet, saying, "I must go. I have several duties I must attend to, but first tell me how your brother fares."

Rúmil also rose and stood very close, gazing down at her with an intense expression. "Haldir sleeps and heals. I saw him just before I came to find you. Elanor sits beside him and cares for him. I honor her for her devotion."

"I would give you the same devotion if you were in his place," Nerwen told him quietly. Leaning up, she kissed him lightly on the mouth. "Perhaps I will see you later."

He did not try to deepen the kiss or embrace her as he usually did, but only smiled sweetly. "Take care, my Nerwen," he said with gentleness.

Nerwen cradled the carving against her breast as she walked away, feeling happier than she had felt in many long years.

x

Túre walked along the path until she came to the footbridge where she had seen the two Imladris elves standing with her friends. No one was here just now, yet the space where they had stood seemed alive with memory. Túre looked around, almost tingling with the possibility that one of those two handsome elves might be her destiny. Was she foolish to imagine it? Perhaps, but even so, she would not turn back now.

Casting a quick look around to be sure no one was near, she continued along the pathway, heading to the place where she had left the daisy. As she neared the rock, she could see that it was still there, and knew a sharp stab of disappointment. Still, she paused and bent down, gazing at it closely. Why did it look so fresh? It had not wilted in the least.

Her heart began to beat a little faster. This was not the same daisy. The stem was longer. She was absolutely certain of this. But what did this mean? Was he playing games with her? Or was someone else?

She glanced around quickly, feeling strange prickles on the back of her neck. Suddenly, she was sure that someone was watching. "Who is there?" she said aloud.

"I am on a mission," said a voice behind her.

Túre turned around slowly, her heart in her throat.

It was the blue-eyed elf. He stood a short distance away, leaning casually against the nearest tree, his lithe body holding an indolent pose.

For some reason, she was not at all surprised. Had her heart known? Had she somehow distinguished differences between him and his green-eyed companion with a single glance? Or was she being over-imaginative?

"Do not be alarmed," he said with a smile. "My mission is nothing to fear."

Túre looked at him, feeling awkward and nervous and unsure how to respond. "What is your mission?" she asked.

"_One_ of my missions is to rescue all daisies left to languish on their own," he said with twinkling eyes. "Another is to discover how I might best introduce myself to your notice."

Túre could not help but smile back. "You might start by telling me your name," she said shyly.

"I could," he acknowledged. "And I should." His eyes were serene and compelling, holding her gaze effortlessly.

Before she had undergone the "change", as she now thought of it, Túre would have been annoyed and said something scathing to him. Now, however, she felt the pleasurable lightness of laughter bubbling up inside of her, so much so that some of it spilled out in her voice as she replied, "Should I take that to mean that you do not care to give me your name? Or that you do not care to do what you ought?"

"You read minds, I see. But so do I." He was clearly flirting with her.

"Oh?" she said, her manner more relaxed. "Then tell me what I am thinking right now."

"You are wondering if I have a sensible thought in my head. I assure you I do. I have been known to have several of them at a time, sometimes even consecutively. However, when I saw you yesterday they all fled, leaving me with nothing to say or do but to follow after you—a bit too late, as it happened." He regarded the daisy in her hand. "I left that one for you this morning," he added in a slightly altered tone . . . in case you came back."

She was suddenly breathless, for despite his insouciance, she sensed he was serious, that she really had made an impression on him. "Yes, I came back," she said, a warm glow spreading inside her.

"I am glad." His gentle smile was both reassuring and mildly playful. "What is your name?"

"I am Túre," she said, still with a hint of shyness. A part of her was noting small details about him, the line of his jaw, the set of his shoulders, the exact shape of his perfect nose. His hair was beautiful, dark and exotic, gleaming with mahogany highlights. Most of all, his eyes held her attention, those amazing and intelligent blue eyes fringed by the dark spiky lashes. He seemed even more attractive now than when she had first seen him.

"Will you walk with me and tell me about yourself, fair Túre?"

"But you have not yet told me your name," she pointed out demurely. "I cannot accept until you do."

His gaze was thoughtful. "You are quite right. Allow me to introduce myself to you properly. I am Telrion, known to my closest friends as Tel. I am a scribe for Lord Elrond, when he wishes to make use of me, and I am considered reasonably proficient with both sword and bow. I am also like a brother to Elanor, whom I expect you know."

"I know Elanor," Túre acknowledged, "though not very well." She paused, aware that she was blushing profusely. "But I fear I have not been a friend to her since she arrived," she confessed in a suffocated voice.

She did not know why she said these words; she only knew that she must face him with absolute truth and purity in her heart. It was as though a voice whispered in her ear that she had been reborn, and must therefore behave with the utmost integrity in order to be worthy of this gift.

"No?" He lifted a quizzical eyebrow, and she knew that he was taken aback.

"No." She drew a deep breath. "I was jealous of her. But . . . now I am not. And I wish her all the best . . . truly I do."

His enigmatic look assessed without judging. "I am glad. Elanor has a good heart, and I sense that you do also. What cause could there be for jealousy?" He crooked his arm, offering it to her in a courtly fashion, and she accepted it.

"Who was the other elf I saw you with? Is he your brother?"

"He is my cousin," Telrion replied, "but we are like brothers." He paused, glancing down at her. "My fellow prankster, he likes to call himself. Which reminds me, I have a confession of my own to make."

"And what is that?" Túre asked with curiosity.

"The crime that Elanor committed, the one that resulted in her being sent here as Haldir's ward . . . Minden and I took part in it, as well as Haldir's brothers."

She gazed at him in astonishment. "You _all_ insulted Haldir?"

"Not exactly," Telrion hedged. "We assisted Elanor in . . . doing what she did. We are all very naughty elves, you see. There, now we have confessed our worst faults to each other and that is done. Do you still wish to walk with me?"

"Oh yes!" she said at once, and laughed at his quick grin.

"And if I gave you another daisy, would you wear it in your hair?"

"I might." She glanced up at him through her lashes. "You will have to give it to me and see."

He laughed softly. "Fair enough."

x

Orophin knew instinctively that when he and Rúmil were summoned by Haldir later that day, it meant something significant, although he did not know what. He only knew that it had nothing to do with Haldir's injuries, for his earlier visit—-made when Haldir was sleeping—-had confirmed that his brother was in no danger of anything but eventual boredom . . . or perhaps over-pampering by his vigilant ward. He smiled at the thought.

Haldir was awake when they arrived, propped slightly higher by a second pillow, and with Elanor still at his side. Orophin made silent note of the fact that his brother seemed disinclined to send her away. Never in Orophin's memory had Haldir had a private meeting with his brothers with an elleth present, listening and watching; even Healea had not been accorded that honor at the height of Haldir's infatuation with her. Elanor had apparently been elevated in the hierarchy, for she not only remained, she sat at Haldir's side as though she was his wife. In fact, Doria had just finished telling him that she had heard that Elanor had asserted herself with two of Lórien's healers when they had come to bathe his brother. Instead, she had done so, a thought that made Orophin's lips twitch just a little.

Neither he nor Rúmil made any comment about Elanor's presence, but stood silently waiting for Haldir to speak. Their elder brother still looked pale, not surprising since it had been not even a full day since he had received Elrond's healing attentions for his wounds.

"I asked you to come here because I have something to explain," Haldir stated, sounding almost like his usual self except for a tired thread in his voice. "Something I myself learned only today."

Orophin exchanged a look with Rúmil. Under ordinary circumstances one of them might have made some jest, but clearly something was amiss.

"I make no excuses," Haldir continued gruffly. "But it is important that you each understand. Before our mother left for the West, she gave each of us a gift. I know not what your gifts were, but mine . . . was an ind-mir. You know what that is?"

"I know _of_ them," Rúmil answered carefully. "I know they are rare and that they split into two."

"And are used to connect two people," Orophin added. "I did not know our mother had one."

"She did," Haldir said in a level tone. "That was her gift to me before she left. And two weeks ago, just before I left for the Fences, I took the ind-mir from its box. With Elanor's help, I turned the one into two. Elanor now wears one indwaedh and I wear the other." His voice held a faint edge of defiance, as though he expected them to express dismay or shock.

Orophin waited, puzzled as to where this was going. "I congratulate you," he said, hoping it was the right thing to say. Haldir was looking very grim, and Elanor was staring down at her hands in her lap. "What is wrong?"

"I do not regret giving it to Elanor. However, I regret that I did not know how it would affect me. How it would distract me."

The light dawned in Orophin's mind, and apparently Rúmil's also, for Rúmil exclaimed, "I knew something was different about you! You have been walking around in some kind of haze these past weeks, ever since we left the city." Orophin saw a pained look cross Haldir's face, and wished Rúmil had not spoken with quite so much frankness.

"It distracted you," Orophin repeated. "In what way?"

"It filled my mind with other things," Haldir said evasively. "As I said, I have no excuse. Wearing the indwaedh without knowledge of its magic was a severe lack of good judgment on my part, one I must confess to all of Lórien. I tell you first because you are my brothers."

Orophin and Rúmil exchanged a glance.

"Yet you wear it still?" Rúmil asked, evincing clear surprise.

Orophin saw Haldir's jaw tighten. "I wear it still. Lord Elrond has advised me most strongly to leave it on. He claims I will grow used to its effects." He paused and glanced at Elanor. "He also says that to remove it could be dangerous in my current condition."

Elanor's head jerked up; apparently this was new information to her. "Oh, Haldir," she murmured. Orophin saw the distress on her face and felt sympathy; it was obvious to him that she loved his brother very much.

"Lord Elrond is wise," Orophin soothed, "and you should heed his advice. Wear it and recover your health, brother. And do not blame yourself so harshly for this small mistake."

"It was not small." Haldir's voice held anger, directed at himself.

Orophin shook his head. "The outcome could have been tragic, I agree, but it was not. Haldir, no one was harmed except you. The Valar have blessed you and I advise you to be grateful. Remorse is fitting, but do not make this matter more than it is. Your life was spared and the enemy was slain. What is is more important than what could have been and was not." He glanced at Elanor, noting the stricken look in her eyes. "You and Elanor clearly share something of value, and that too is important."

Haldir was silent, reminding Orophin that he was coping with physical pain as well as guilt. "Thank you, Orophin. You are quite right, and I do remember it. But I still must tell the wardens of Lórien the truth about my lapse. Perhaps in time I can regain their trust."

"You have not lost their trust!" Rúmil uttered sharply.

Haldir looked at him. "You do not know this."

"I know that you have not lost mine," he shot back. "I would trust you with my life even now while you lie wounded on this bed."

"So would I," Orophin added.

"And I," Elanor said quietly.

Haldir looked at each of them, a peculiar expression on his face. "I do not deserve such trust," he said at last, with a hint of dryness. "I doubt I could lift a sword at the moment."

"You could if you had to," Rúmil stated firmly. "Do you forget how long we have known you? One error does not cancel or replace ten thousand noble memories. That would be foolish. We have faith in you, and that faith is not diminished by a single mistake, either large or small."

"Well," Haldir said mildly, "perhaps I stand corrected." Orophin could have sworn he saw the corners of his mouth twitch. "I will rest now and consider your words."

x

Stretched naked on his bed, Rúmil faced the dark branches outside his talan while the cool night air from the open window brushed across his bare skin. Nocturnal creatures scurried and an owl hooted, but his concentration was on Nerwen, whose image burned brightly in his mind and behind his eyelids.

His eyes were shut, for he had found he could visualize her better this way. The memory of her kiss and statement of her love for him made it difficult for him to think of anything else, forcing him to shift restlessly from thoughts and images that made his blood run hot. He envisioned her as he had last seen her, in the filmy, pale blue gown with the loose sleeves, her hair tumbling around her shoulders and his carving held close to her shapely breasts. The familiar sweet scent of Lórien wafted around him, telling him secrets he already knew, while the whispering wind brought forth an ache for that which he had not yet known.

How much more difficult it would be if they each wore an indwaedh, he realized suddenly. He could only imagine the depth of his distraction in such a situation, and found himself thankful his mother had not given _him_ the ind-mir. He did not quite understand how it had affected his strong-minded brother, but it obviously had and it made Rúmil wary. Magical items always seemed to be a mixed blessing, useful and dangerous at the same time. Yet he sympathized with his brother, who obviously was suffering much guilt and self-recrimination. Rúmil had often been glad that he was not the eldest of the three, for it seemed to him that seniority was another mixed blessing. Not that the few years between them should make such a difference after all these centuries, yet their early upbringing had clearly created in Haldir a state of mind where he always felt responsible for everyone and everything, allowing himself no leeway or sufferance. Always he had felt he must set the perfect example, always striving to eliminate faults or flaws in himself.

Rúmil smiled at the thought. As younglings, Haldir had tried so hard to be dependable and perfect that he had often come across as insufferable and annoying, and traces of that attitude lingered on in his rigorous attention to detail and discipline and occasional arrogance. Time, however, had tempered his more overbearing tendencies, replacing them with a self-confidence that was honorably earned and nobly carried, and it troubled Rúmil to think that his brother's confidence might have been shaken in any way.

Despite his concern for Haldir, his thoughts soon veered back to Nerwen. How far he had come in these past few decades of his life! For so many centuries his heart had been his own, and only now did he realize that he knew not when he had given it away. When had it happened? Had he fallen in love while she held his hand in the garden all those years ago? Or had he come to love her before then, over the many long years that he had known her? And why had it taken him so long to realize? Was he without intelligence in these matters? Did he think only with his male parts? His lips twitched at the thought of what Nerwen's answer to that question would be.

Gradually he relaxed, little by little allowing his ardor to cool while trying not to think about the oath he had sworn. Every so often it intruded in his mind, pricking him like the tip of a very sharp sword, but he kept pushing it away. He was sure Nerwen would come around eventually . . . well, almost sure. He dared not think about that. Instead, he would allow himself to dream of that which he desired . . .

x

Nerwen balanced on a branch outside her talan, swinging her feet and enjoying the ripple of wind in her hair while her mind wandered down pathways she did not often traverse. She thought about the day she had received word that her father had been slain in an Orc skirmish while traveling with a party of Elves to Taur-e-Ndaedelos. It saddened her to think of it, but it had happened many years before and her grief had at last resolved itself into acceptance. Still, she had stored it away, using the incident as armor to protect her heart. Taking lovers and having good friends had seemed enough for her until the day had arrived when she could no longer deny the call she felt toward Rúmil. Sixty-three years had passed since then; sixty-three years that she had longed to feel Rúmil's arms around her. And all that time she had resisted him.

She had been thinking all day about Rúmil and his vow and declarations of love. He could not realize the pressure he put on her, for of course there was no way she would allow him to be bound to such a vow. And she loved him far too much not to give him one last chance to keep his freedom.

x

The instant the door opened, he knew it was she. In fact, he had heard her approach, light yet somehow familiar footfalls on the stairway nearest to his talan. He was about to roll over and face her when curiosity overtook him, and so instead he lay very still, waiting to see what she would do.

He felt her draw near the bed though she made no sound at all now. Was she holding her breath? "I am here," she whispered. Her hand touched his shoulder while she bent and kissed him on the cheek. "Do not move, Rúmil." Her warm breath blew in his ear and then she stepped away.

His back faced her, but he could follow her movements by the soft sounds. He heard the faint rustle of her gown as she loosened it and let it fall to the floor. Her gentle exhale spoke of anticipation, and then the mattress dipped with the press of her knee.

"Nerwen," he murmured appreciatively. Thickly.

She straddled his legs and leaned over him, her face so close to his that the curtain of her hair enclosed them in a shimmering veil. "I have come to love you, Rúmil."

He smiled and began to roll onto his back, but her hand stopped him. "Stay as you are," she said, her voice tender. She sat still for a moment, smiling down at him while he lay on his side, trapped between her legs.

His heart hammering, he turned his head and looked up at her, able to see her quite well despite the dark. His mouth went dry at the sight. "Nerwen, my love, are you here only to tease me?" he asked in a shaky voice.

Her gentle laugh sent a shudder of hunger through his body. "I am here to make love to you, something I have long wanted to do." As if to illustrate, she dipped her head and pressed her lips to the hollow at the base of his throat. He felt the touch of her tongue and then she lowered herself more so that the budded tips of her breasts grazed his side.

Already rock hard, he started to lift his arms, but she shook her head and seized his wrists, pushing him to lie flat on his back. "Not yet," she whispered, kneeling over him while the wind from the window stirred tendrils of her hair. "Be still a bit longer, Rúmil. Permit me to indulge myself. I promise you will not be sorry."

Her touch was light and painfully teasing, roaming over his flesh until he was nearly out of his senses with excitement. She moved provocatively, rocking against his thigh to please herself, and the intimate contact hardened him even further. Blood pounded in his brain as her mouth trailed across his stomach, heading downward to where her hands had been. When her mouth closed around him, his whole body jerked. He flung back his head, his eyes squeezed shut while he listened to the sounds coming from his own throat with a vague sense of wonder. Had this act ever felt this good before? No, it could not have, because this was Nerwen . . . and he was drowning . . . drowning in a molten sea of sensation . . .

"Nerwen," he gasped, "I must . . . sweetling, I am going to . . ."

Apparently his desperation reached her, for she withdrew and slid up to lie beside him, her sleek body curled against his. One finger drew a searing line down his chest. "You can move now," she said mischievously.

At once he enveloped her, his mouth cleaving hungrily to hers while he stroked his way across her smooth, lush skin. He kissed her lips, her eyes, her hair, then lifted his head to gaze directly into her eyes. "Nerwen, he whispered fiercely. "I love you. Do you hear? I love you. "

"I hear you, Rúmil." She rubbed against him and kissed his shoulder. "I love you too."

Again and again he kissed her, exulting in her soft willingness, his hot tongue seeking deeply while she clung to him, her silken limbs wrapped around him in the velvet darkness. He explored her fully, cupping her breasts and suckling her while she arched against him and emitted beautiful little whimpers that fueled his desire. Part of him wanted to rush, but control won out, for he was no youngling and he truly wished to make this last as long as possible.

Instead, he caressed and kissed her everywhere, enjoying the smooth perfection of her calves and thighs, the supple curve of her hip, the turn of her slender ankles. Using all his considerable skills as a lover, he stoked her fires until she lay writhing, her fingers buried in his hair while his own fingers delved deep, giving her a pleasure soon enhanced by his mouth and tongue. His own need was excruciating, yet he set it aside to pleasure her as thoroughly as he knew how, and the audible result came in her choked little gasps and shuddering cries of delight.

At last, in an urgent cresting of desire, he rolled between her legs and raised himself up on his elbows, his body taut with fiery longing. Their eyes met and held for an emotion-filled moment. "Are you ready?" he murmured.

"I burn for you," she whispered. Silently, she reached down and guided him into her alluring feminine heat. _Finally . . . finally . . ._

As he sank into her, he had the oddest sense that he was going home.

Afterward, they lay entwined while he stroked her hair, immeasurable contentment washing over him like the ceaseless rhythm of a sea-tide. He kissed her brow, searching for words to say that would not spoil the moment, but it was she who spoke first.

"I have released you from your vow," she said softly.

He smiled. "I am glad."

She turned her head to look up at him, her expression more serious than he expected. "You are now free to do as you wish. You are not bound to me in any way."

He frowned slightly. "What do you mean?" It was not what he expected her to say.

She sat up suddenly and swung her legs over the side of the bed, then glanced back over her shoulder. "Think what it was you vowed, Rúmil."

"I vowed to sleep with no one but you," he said in confusion. He watched her reach for her gown and pull it over her head. "What are you doing? I do not want you to leave."

"Nay, Rúmil. Your vow was that if you do not take me to your bed then you would take no one at all. You have now taken me, and that frees you to take another." She continued to look at him, watching him closely.

Rúmil could not believe his ears. "Nerwen, why are you saying this?"

"Because I believe your vow was made without sufficient thought. I want to know that if you are with me, that choice is freely made, not because of a vow that prevents you from being with someone else. You cannot live without sex, Rúmil. You know that as well as I do. And I could not live with the knowledge of your suffering. So I did the sensible thing and released you from this impractical vow."

He sat up and set his feet on the floor, pulling her close until she stood between his knees. "Valar help me, Nerwen, you do not know how tempted I am to turn you over my knee and spank your sensible little backside! I do not wish to be released from my vow, nor do I wish to be with anyone else! And you have not released me, for I make the vow for a second time right now. And if you release me again, I will make it again and again and again until you accept my word. I vow to take no one but you to my bed EVER!" He was glaring at her now, his hands gripping hers forcefully. "Now take off your gown and come back to bed, and stop talking nonsense!"

"Oh, very well," she said, so meekly that he was suspicious.

He examined her through narrowed eyes. "Was that some kind of a test?" he demanded.

She gave him a sheepish look. "Only because I love you so much," she confessed. "Sixty-three summers have come and gone since I first realized I loved you and only you. I have taken no one to my bed since that day. Rúmil, I know firsthand how lonely and frustrating it can be. I would not want that for you."

As the implications of her words sank in, he stared at her in shock. "Oh, Nerwen." Shaking his head, he slid his arms around her hips and drew her against him, his cheek resting against her abdomen. He thought about how he had complained of a few weeks of celibacy. No wonder she had laughed at him. "Nerwen, Nerwen . . . I know not what to say. I am ashamed."

"Do not be," she said quietly, stroking his hair. "Perhaps my doubts were foolish, but your answer reassures me and I am filled with joy. I love you, Rúmil, and I do not want to leave you."

He sighed and lifted his head, his smile both playful and tender. "Then come back to my bed, little queen of my heart. After sixty-three years with no lover, you clearly need a great deal more of my expert attentions."

Her lilting laugh held genuine delight. "I do indeed, my darling Rúmil. I am yours forever. Do with me what you will."

x

"Hírion said she nearly threw them out of the room." The voice belonged to Amrion, a tall slender elf with deep humor in this voice. He stood near the edge of the flet just above where Lurien stood, hidden deep within the shadows cast by the overhang. Lurien scowled, annoyed by the laughter and approval so apparent in the voices of the small group that gathered on this beautiful crisp morning.

It appeared that Elanor had ordered two of Lórien's most important healers from Haldir's talan, taking over his care in such an audacious manner that those who heard of it either raised their brows or smiled. The interesting revelation that Haldir's ward had become more than a ward had spread, and with Lord Elrond in attendance upon Haldir, many were speculating about how the Elf-Lord might respond. Not to mention how Haldir himself might be taking the presumptuous actions of his ward.

Lurien suspected Elrond would do nothing, and that frustrated him. As for Haldir, he was undoubtedly enjoying being the center of attention as usual.

Haldir, Haldir, Haldir. It was always Haldir.

Filled with impotent rage, Lurien barely resisted the urge to slam his fist against the post beside him. Overhead, laughter continued, but then grew distant as the gossipers continued on their way. Lurien slipped away before any could mark his presence or realize that he had been spying. In any case, he had heard enough to confirm that Haldir had their people's sympathy rather than their condemnation.

Seeking refuge in a nearby glade, Lurien continued to brood. Were they all blind? Haldir should be condemned for his errors, not admired. But no, even with word that Lórien's most illustrious warden had made a grievous error in judgment, it deterred no one from voicing their respect and appreciation for his so-called sacrifices.

Folding his hands behind his back, Lurien paced back and forth, then left the glade and strode along the path toward the set of steps that led to his talan. Halfway there, he paused to take in one of his favorite views, staring out from the shadows into the city's early morning glow. For a moment he allowed himself to take simple pleasure in the sight, and then his frown returned.

Elanor. He should have seduced her when he had the chance instead of swearing that ridiculous oath upon the Lady's honor. She had been clever to ask that of him, but he should have been cleverer and found a way to elude her trap. The archery lessons had been mildly amusing, but they had not accomplished his goal. Nothing had gone the way he had planned . . . so far. But there was still time.

"Your thoughts are as dark as the shadows you hide in, my brother."

He turned, facing the only elleth other than Tarwë who had the power to melt his heart. Doria smiled, tilting her head as he stepped close to kiss her cheek.

"I am not hiding," he said with strained lightness.

She touched his cheek, brushing her fingers along his jaw. "Perhaps not, but your mouth was hard-set and you were frowning. It is easy to see you have been brooding again. Is it because of Haldir?"

Lurien made an impatient gesture, his mouth twisting despite his effort to control it. "I grow weary of this talk about him, that is all. No matter how great his blunders, it seems that he can do no wrong. I have no doubt he will manage to turn this to his advantage in some manner."

Doria moved to his side, turning so she could see his face. "How many times must I tell you to let go of your jealousy and anger? These feelings are destroying you. I am sure that Haldir suffers, not only from his injuries but also from guilt. His life is not an easy one. You must remember that his path is not yours."

He ignored the concern in her eyes. "You have become too close to these three brothers," he countered coolly. "You grow too fond of them."

"Why should I not be? They are good ellyn, Lurien. I see them as they are. They are just like you and me. They can be hurt, they can be happy, they have feelings. Haldir's situation has made many of us realize anew how much danger our wardens face, how much we all depend upon them. They face far more peril than we realize. They deserve our respect and our gratitude, not our contempt."

Lurien mouth twitched irritably. "And the sentinels who guard Galadriel and this very city face no peril. That is what you are saying, is it not? We are less worthy of respect. In effect, we do nothing."

Doria set her hands on her hips, a familiar stance when they argued. "Of course that is not what I am saying, Lurien. You know that. You are prepared to face danger. You train for it and are ready for it. But you do not face it daily like the wardens do, that is all. It does not make you less worthy of respect."

"I do not wish to argue with you, Doria."

She sighed. "You ought to spend some time with Tarwë. I have spoken little with her of late, but when last we spoke she seemed sad. She is good for you, Lurien. With her, you are the carefree ellon I once knew so long ago. And although she has not told me so, I do believe that she loves you."

Lurien closed his eyes, trying to blot out the incredible wave of guilt that washed over him. "I do not deserve Tarwë," he said abruptly. "She would be better off without me. I am not worthy of her love."

"Oh, Lurien," Doria whispered, shaking her head. "I hate to hear you say such things. It tears out my heart."

Lurien forced a smile, using his ready charm to ease her distress. "Very well then, if it will please you, I will go and visit her now. Meanwhile, I am sure Orophin must be wondering where you are. He would not like to know you are with me."

Doria lifted her brows. "Why should I not visit with my own brother? Orophin understands the depth of feeling siblings carry for each other. He does not care if we meet."

Lurien was not so certain, but made no reply as he moved past her toward the nearest walkway. Doria stepped back gracefully, but her parting words stopped him in his tracks.

"Would you see Haldir dead, Lurien? Is that what it would take for you to be happy?"

He stiffened, squaring his shoulders as he slowly turned around to face her. "Dead? Of course I do not wish him dead. Did you truly believe that of me?" He was faintly shocked and rather offended that his own sister should think such a thing of him.

Doria looked relieved. "I had hoped not, Lurien, but I was not sure. Even so, you must let go of your hate. It solves nothing and has no benefit. It can only destroy."

Lurien smiled faintly. "You may be right. And perhaps someday he and I will no longer be at odds. But that day has not yet come."

tbc - feedback always appreciated

Taur-e-Ndaedelos - the Forest of Great Fear, one of the names the Elves used for the place Men called Mirkwood.

ind-mir - heart jewel, indwaedh - heart-bond, ellon - maleElf (singular), ellyn - male Elves (plural)


	28. Chapter TwentyEight

Thank you to all our reviewers! Your reviews and comments have been so generous and so kind, and that is such a great incentive to write more. Thank you so very, very much! Here is the next chapter, again, 10,000+ words. Enjoy!

xxx

**Chapter Twenty-Eight**

Another day passed before Lord Elrond sent for Elanor. Orophin delivered the summons early in the evening, offering to take Elanor's place at Haldir's side while she was gone so that she could be easy in her mind. With secret approval he watched the way she fussed over Haldir, adjusting his blanket and smoothing his hair and giving him a last sip of his drink. Silently, he compared her to other ellith who had professed affection for Haldir over the years. Out of all of them, Elanor was the first to meet Orophin's rather rigorous standards. Granted, she might have behaved oddly the night he had met her in Imladris, but even that incident highlighted her uniqueness. In some way that Orophin could not explain even to himself, Elanor was worthy of Haldir.

"I will give him as much tender loving care as you have been doing," he reassured her with a smile. "I will even hold his hand, if you like." The comment earned him a frown from his brother.

"You are welcome to try," Elanor said cordially. "You might also assist him with the chamber-pot while I am gone. I am sure he will be needing it soon."

Orophin noted the way Haldir followed her with his eyes, as though nothing existed for him except Elanor. Orophin wondered how much of this was due to the indwaedh's influence. He suspected that Haldir would behave the same even without the magical jewel, although it was just opinion and he could be wrong. But as he and Rúmil had surmised so many weeks before, Elanor could well be the One for his stubborn elder brother. Time would tell.

Elanor bent and kissed Haldir on the forehead. "And be sure he keeps taking deep breaths every so often. It is good for his lungs. And try to get him to take some more of that broth. He is being a bit stubborn about that."

"Yes, my lady." Orophin saluted.

"Thank you, Orophin." Smiling, she kissed Haldir again very chastely on the cheek. "I will return as soon as I can," she whispered.

When she was gone, Orophin sat down in the chair and looked at Haldir. "You still look pale. Do you need the pot now?"

"Presently. Do me a favor and dump that broth."

Orophin glanced over at the half-consumed bowl of liquid sitting near a group of plants. He saw no signs of vegetables in it, though it had a faintly greenish color. "It's mostly water," he remarked, feeling sympathetic.

"Then I will drink it from a cup, but I won't be spoon-fed like an elfling."

"Can you hold a cup?" Orophin inquired.

"If I wished to." Haldir shifted slightly and made a small grimace. "I have no appetite. Nor would you if you were lying here."

"I am sorry," Orophin replied sincerely. He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

"No." The single word sounded weary and dejected.

"At least you have Elanor to care for you. It could be worse. You could be stuck with me."

"What does Elrond want with her?"

Surprised by the question, Orophin studied Haldir thoughtfully. Haldir was unquestionably not himself at the moment; under normal circumstances he would realize that Orophin would not be at all likely to know Lord Elrond's business. However, this was not the time to point that out.

"I suppose he wishes to see how she is faring in this strange land of ours. Or perhaps he brings tidings from her home."

"Her home is here now," Haldir said in a testy voice.

Ah, so that was what was eating at him.

"I am sure he will not make her leave you," Orophin said soothingly. "Even if he tried, he would not succeed. Remember, this is Elanor we are talking about, not some wilting flower with no will of her own. She is devoted to you. She will not leave." He searched for another direction to take the conversation. "Is it true she tossed Hírion and his crony out on their ears?"

"'Tis true enough. Elanor has a firm spine."

Orophin watched Haldir's mouth tilt upward. "You are proud of her."

"I am." Haldir shifted again as though trying to ease his discomfort. "Although I shudder to think what that accursed healer is saying."

"He is saying that her behavior is unseemly, but no one pays him any heed. Hírion's feathers are ruffled because he likes to think of himself as the most senior healer after the Lord and Lady. And while Elrond is here, his opinions are not being solicited. Since he cannot sputter about that, he chooses to gossip about Elanor."

"Bah," Haldir muttered. "What a fool."

"As for Elanor," Orophin continued, "people are starting to realize that she is more than a ward to you, but no one judges either of you. Elanor is well-liked and respected by everyone who takes the time to know her. They are on your side, Haldir. You remain a hero to our people."

"They have yet to learn the truth," Haldir said shortly.

"They have heard enough to know you made a mistake of some sort," Orophin informed him in an apologetic tone. "The fault is mine and Rúmil's. I fear we and were overheard when we discussed it with Enetheru and Seidiron. It quickly spread."

"It matters not," Haldir said, and shut his eyes. "The story must be told."

"Perhaps, but even so, our people's pride in you remains unchanged. How could it not, when you have done so much for us all, and for so long? No one has uttered a word against you, save perhaps a certain sentinel we both know."

Haldir mumbled something indistinct, his voice slightly slurred now. Talking seemed to tire him, most likely because he had lost a tremendous amount of blood. And yet he was strong and would heal, Elrond had said. And while he healed, Elanor would be with him night and day. This thought reminded Orophin of his assigned duties.

"Do you need to use the pot before you fall asleep?"

Haldir reopened his eyes. "I suppose so."

Orophin carefully assisted with the business, and once concluded he patiently helped his brother to lie down again, his sharp gaze taking in the way Haldir gritted his teeth against the pain. Orophin pressed his hand to Haldir's brow and cast a simple relaxation spell that Haldir acknowledged with a grateful flicker of his eyes.

"Take care of that broth," he said haltingly. "I care not what you do with it as long as I am rid of it. You can drink it yourself if you like."

"I will give it to the plants," Orophin said hastily.

"No, they will complain to Elanor."

"'Tis vegetable broth," Orophin argued. "It would be a step up for them. They might like it."

"If so, then she will be forever be brewing this stuff," Haldir murmured. "And I would rather she did not."

Orophin lifted a brow. "Then you must make your wishes known. You forget who is in command here, brother."

A small smile touched Haldir's lips. "Untrue, Orophin. I know exactly who is in command."

Orophin decided it was better not to ask.

x

Elanor reached the talan where she had been told Lord Elrond was staying. It was the largest of the guest telain, one reserved for the use of the most important guests. Pausing outside the door, she could not help remembering the last time he had summoned her, and the trepidation she had experienced at that time. So much had changed since then, and yet her emotions were strangely similar as she tapped upon the ornately carved and burnished wood.

Elrond's familiar voice bade her enter, and he rose from his chair as she stepped inside. "Ah, Elanor, there you are," he said in a friendly voice. "I hope you will forgive me from tearing you away from your guardian."

"Of course, my lord," she murmured. She bowed her head slightly and rested her hand on her heart. "Will you visit him again today?"

"I will, yes. Is there any change of which I am unaware?"

"He does not like the broth," she replied. "Other than that, I would say there is no change. He still feels pain, my lord. Is there no way to remove it?"

"We have taken most of it away, Elanor. What remains is enough to remind him to lie still."

Elanor clasped her hands together in front of her and tried to look humble and dutiful. "You are saying you left him in pain on purpose?" It was an inquiry only, and she tried not to sound accusatory.

Elrond regarded her steadily, his eyes filled with both kindness and discernment. "I am saying that we made him as comfortable as we could, Elanor. We would leave no pain we had the power to remove. We are doing all we can."

She bowed her head. "Of course. Forgive me, my lord."

"No apologies are necessary. You care about him, I can see that clearly." Elrond paused. "May I assume you will not be returning to Imladris any time soon?"

Elanor looked up. "My home is with him now." She could feel herself blushing hotly as she spoke the words.

Elrond looked amused. "I see. Well, you are old enough to make such decisions for yourself. I see no reason to try to dissuade you. Your family may not take kindly to your choice, I hope you realize."

"Have you heard from them?" she asked. Her stomach clenched just a little.

"Indeed I have. And I have answered and received a reply. I have letters to deliver to you." Turning away, he walked across the room to the table and picked up two parchments that had been folded flat and sealed with golden wax.

Elanor accepted them with murmured thanks, but did not attempt to open them in the presence of Lord Elrond, whose perceptive gray eyes were studying her closely. "You are truly happy, Elanor? Haldir has been as kind as he ought?"

Elanor nodded, and to her surprise she felt her eyes grow moist. "Indeed he has, Lord Elrond. You have my deepest gratitude for sending me away with him. He is so noble and good and . . ." She paused, suddenly feeling foolish and awkward. "I admire and respect him very much," she finished, hoping she sounded poised and sensible rather than maudlin and lovesick.

"I am glad," the Imladris Lord said gently. "I suspected that would be the case once you ceased your sputtering and took the time to know him. No, do not apologize again, Elanor. The past is over. Now it is time to look to the future. You may remain here in Lórien with my good wishes, and so I shall tell your parents when next I write to them. However, I will leave it to you to explain it to Telrion and Minden. They will miss their fellow prankster."

"I am no longer a prankster, my lord. I learned my lesson."

"What a shame," Elrond teased. "A prank now and then keeps life interesting, does it not? At least my sons think so. As long as you exercise good judgment, Elanor, you need not renounce your sense of fun. The two must be balanced." He paused, his assessing look filled with comprehension. "But I will prattle on no longer, for I can see you are anxious to return to him. Go on, then, child."

"Thank you, my lord." Elanor again touched her hand to her heart and took her leave.

However, she did not return at once to Haldir, but instead hurried up to Haldir's talan to read the letters in privacy. Her heart was beating fast with apprehension as she broke the seal on the first of the two.

It was from her mother. As Elanor expected, it was filled with recriminations and reproaches of every variety. Elanor was to blame for her sister's reckless and unbecoming behavior (it appeared that Elrond had made it clear what Lana's transgressions were) and the nature of those transgressions had shocked her mother (and her father, apparently) to the very core. How had Elanor allowed this to happen? They had placed their trust in her and she had let them down. To add to this, Elanor had insulted this important Lórien personage in a most unforgivable manner, a manner so severe that Lord Elrond had been reluctant to explain the exact nature of her wrongdoing. Her mother hoped that Elanor regretted her actions and had learned her lesson. The letter ended with various tidbits of news that held little interest to Elanor since she knew none of the Elves of whom her mother spoke. It closed with an affectionate, if restrained, note, reminding Elanor that she was indeed loved by her family even if they did not understand her at all.

Elanor lowered the letter, then reread it once more, with a rising sense of relief. Lord Elrond had not told her parents the exact nature of what she had done to so offend Haldir. Her mother seemed to know that Elanor had taken Haldir to task for his treatment of Lana, but other than that, she knew nothing. It was incredible and yet it also made sense. She must be sure and thank Lord Elrond for his leniency and tact. Tears of gratitude entered her eyes, but she blinked them away and broke the seal on the second letter, which of course was from Lana. Elanor hesitated for a moment, unsure she wanted to read it, then took the plunge. It read:

_Dear Sister,_

_My time here in this dreadful place is more tedious than you could possibly imagine. The caves in which these Elves dwell are not as nasty as I feared, and are in fact quite comfortable in their way, but they do not compensate for the dreariness of my life with Nana and Ada. I feel like I am in prison and I do not deserve it! It is not fair! If only you had not been so foolish, you and I might be together now instead of enduring this stupid separation. I am sure you miss me as much as I miss you, and that Haldir is behaving quite nastily, for that is his true nature as I'm sure you have discovered._

_I will be honest and say that I am still peeved with you for your imprudent effort to punish him. I cannot imagine what you were thinking, dear sister. I really should have made you tell me the whole story, for our parents will tell me nothing, which I suspect means they do not know. I have not told them what you said, for I certainly do not believe what you hinted to me about tying Haldir up. I mean, how can I believe that? How would you have done it unless you used one of your sleeping draughts on him? Well, I suppose it might have done the task, but how would you have made him drink it? No, I do not for one instant believe that nonsense, and yet I know you did something dreadful. You must write and tell me what it was, for I am most curious. I promise I will not tell Nana._

_In any case, what I really wanted to say is that you must rescue me at once. I am most unhappy and I know you will not like to hear that. So here is what I want you to do. You must write to Nana and tell her how much you miss my company, and then you must make the Lady Galadriel write to Nana and Ada and invite me to come to Lórien to keep you company. I keep thinking how entertaining it will be to live in Lothlórien. You and I could live together again, and you could mend my gowns and watch over me just like you used to, and that would be enough to please Nana and Ada. I cannot wait to see Lórien for myself and will await your response most anxiously._

_Incidentally, King Thranduil is very handsome but distant in his manner, and I do not think I like him very much. I far prefer his son Legolas, who is even more handsome and nowhere near as aloof as his ada. I am sure I could attract his interest if Nana allowed me the opportunity to flirt with him, for he smiles at me very often and quite sweetly, but alas she watches me like a hawk (although I manage to elude her now and then). Oh, and in case you are wondering, I bribed one of the guards to smuggle this letter to the messenger without letting Nana see it first. Was that not clever of me?_

_I remain your devoted sister,_

"_L" _

Elanor folded the letter and closed her eyes, swept back for a moment to her life in Imladris with her sister and parents. And yet it was not nostalgia she felt, but irritation. It was unjust of her, to be sure. They had no way of knowing how much she had changed, or how differently she felt about her life. She supposed she must answer these letters, but it was nothing she could do right away.

With a sigh, she refolded the two letters and tucked them away inside Haldir's cabinet across the room. She then went to wash and freshen up before returning to Haldir. Already her thoughts were filled with him; in fact she found it hard to think about anything else--not gardening, not archery, not even her problems with Lurien. Haldir filled her mind while his essence throbbed around her as it had these past two weeks. The indwaedh was indeed a distraction; she had not realized until now just how great a one it was. No wonder it had caused him such problems.

x

"You knew it was I, of course." Telrion leaned back against the trunk of the tree, holding Túre's hands loosely while he smiled down at her in a way that made her heart whirl around in happy little circles.

"I suspected it was either you or your cousin," she confessed. "I was not sure which one, for I looked away too soon. I was embarrassed."

His fingers tightened around hers. "Embarrassed to be admired? Why would that be?"

She felt herself blush deeply. "I am unused to it, that is all." She peeped up at him, and saw that he had arched a brow. "It has been a long time for me," she explained awkwardly.

He frowned a little, and then to her delight he drew her closer, into a loose embrace that was at once comforting and tender. "Tell me more," he said quietly. "I would hear for myself the tale of your sorrows so that I can do whatever is in my power to ease them."

And so she told him about Iridor, her childhood friend and only lover, the one she had given her heart and body to so many years ago. She told him how she had mourned when Iridor had died, and how she had then grown bitter and sullen, and how many Elves she had offended because she had felt so empty and horrid on the inside where her heart should be. At the end of the tale she wept, and that was when he drew her tenderly against his chest and held her as she had not been held in more years than she cared to remember. Her hot tears flowed until his shoulder was quite damp, but he did not seem to mind. It was not his best tunic anyway, he told her soothingly, which made her giggle through her tears.

They stayed that way for what seemed like a very long time while the wind whispered through the mellyrn and a few leaves drifted down to gather at their feet. Eventually she calmed, a lightheaded sensation taking over, as though she had finally released a great burden that had been part of her for many years. She stood very still with her cheek against his shoulder, conscious of the rise and fall of his chest with each of his breaths, conscious also of his height and muscular slenderness, and of the thick dark hair cascading down his back.

Her heart ached with sudden joy. "You are so beautiful," she said without thinking. And then blushed fiery red.

She felt the rumble of his laugh. "I was about to say those very words to you, sweet Túre. You are like a dream come true for me." His fingers touched her jaw, turning her head so that she was gazing directly up into his smiling blue eyes. And then he kissed her, a kiss filled with sweetness beyond imagining, different from anything she had ever experienced and yet in some way everything she needed. One kiss turned into many kisses, each becoming more intense, more intimate, until both of them were breathing hard and fast. "Túre," he whispered.

That was when the clearing of a throat interrupted them.

Telrion lifted his head. "Ah, Minden, just the person I hoped to see, although not, perhaps, at this precise moment."

Feeling self-conscious, Túre looked at the other Imladris Elf, whose green eyes were evaluating her with great interest and good humor. Stepping forward, he smiled broadly and bowed, saying, "Greetings, Fair One. I am Minden. And you are?"

"Túre," she filled in shyly.

"I am pleased to meet you, Túre," he said with a smile. "So you are the mysterious elleth responsible for turning my cousin into a dauntless hunter of daisies and their owners. Such a dance you led him on! I have seldom seen him so determined. I trust you found his offering?"

Túre slid a glance toward Telrion and saw that he was grinning. "I am sorry to have caused such trouble," she said. "But it was a very nice gesture, and I appreciated it."

Telrion smiled, and Minden laughed in such a way that his green eyes twinkled merrily. "I am glad to hear it. Tel, I came to let you know that we have been invited to a small party. Three or four of Elrohir and Elladan's friends are celebrating their visit, and have included us. What say you? Túre, you are welcome as well," he added courteously. "You would not be the only elleth present, I am sure."

Telrion turned to Túre. "What would you like to do? Shall we join them? Or would you rather stroll with me around the gardens as we have been doing?"

She noticed that his leaving her alone was not listed an option, yet the mere idea of accompanying him to a public gathering flustered her enormously. "Oh," she floundered, "I do not really think . . . I am not quite . . . but if you would rather . . ."

Telrion correctly interpreted this. "No, Min, we will not be joining you tonight. Túre and I would prefer to spend our time becoming better acquainted."

"Enjoy your stroll then," Minden said lazily. "Perhaps I will see you tomorrow. Túre, it was good to meet you."

After he was gone, Túre looked at Telrion, trying to guess what he might be thinking. "If you wished to go with him, I would not have been offended."

"I would rather be with you," he told her deliberately. "I only just found you, and I am not about to let you escape."

Túre blushed with pleasure. "Well, then, where shall we go?"

He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it. "Anywhere we can be alone so I can kiss you without further interruption." He smiled crookedly. "That sounds overbold. I did not mean to imply I seek an invitation to your bed . . . although I would not turn one down." He paused again and shook his head. "Forgive me, I am usually more skillful with words. I leave the matter in your hands, Túre. Where shall we go?"

Túre wrapped her fingers around his and took a deep breath. "Actually . . . I was wondering if you might like to go swimming with me. Not the bathhouse. I know another place more private where the water is warm."

A funny little smile curled Telrion's lips. "I think I might like that very much. Will you wear a daisy in your hair for me?"

Túre smiled back. "If you would like me to, I will."

"Then the first thing we must do is find one."

x

Elanor returned to Haldir still troubled by her sister's letter but determined to conceal its existence from him. Consequently, she schooled her face into a tranquil expression before she entered the talan, but found the precaution to be unnecessary. Haldir was peacefully asleep, his pale hair spread out upon the pillow and his breathing as even and easy as if he had no wounds.

Orophin had been sitting in the chair beside the bed, but he rose to his feet when Elanor arrived. "He behaved himself for once," he said cheerfully. "Look, the broth is gone."

"He drank all of it?" she said in surprise. "It took me all morning to get half of it into him."

"Every drop," Orophin affirmed. "He did not like it, but I have a special way of coaxing him, you see."

Elanor looked at him suspiciously, but saw no signs of guile in his face. "Well, good, I am glad. He needs nourishment. Perhaps I should send for more."

"I would not advise it," Orophin said, a shade too quickly. "He has had enough for one day. It makes him terribly grumpy."

Elanor decided not to pursue the matter. "Very well, Orophin. Please do not feel you have to leave, though. You have more right to be here than I."

Stepping around the bed, Orophin slipped his arm around her waist and kissed her brow in a manner that could only be called brotherly. "Perhaps some might say that," he said, "but I am not so sure." He smiled down at her. "And I would stay if I thought it would help him in the least. But what helps him most is to have you here, Elanor. You know that, do you not?"

Elanor gazed up into his clear blue eyes. "If I can help him in any way, I will do it," she said quietly. "I would do anything in my power for him."

Orophin nodded slowly. "So I thought," he said, then bowed courteously and took his leave.

Elanor lit the lamp, and then sat beside the bed and reached for Haldir's hand. Even though he slept, she knew he was aware of her, for his fingers tightened around hers ever so slightly. And so they stayed until Haldir at last opened his eyes and looked at her.

Elanor squeezed his hand. "I am here," she said softly.

"Drink," he whispered.

Elanor supported his head while he took more of the honeyed healing draught. "I see the broth is gone," she said. "You drank it all?" She set the goblet aside while he relaxed back against the pillow.

"Every drop. What did Lord Elrond want with you?" His face revealed nothing.

"He had a letter for me from my mother." She saw no need to tell him about her sister's letter.

"And?" Haldir prompted, his gaze and tone demanding.

"And what?" she asked, a little startled. Could he have guessed there was a second letter?

"And what else did Elrond say?"

Elanor laced her fingers together in her lap. "He agrees that I may remain in Lórien for however long I wish. He has no objection at all." She watched Haldir closely, half fearful she might see an indication that he did not want her to stay. Instead, she saw the opposite; the subtle relaxation of his facial muscles spoke clearly of approval.

"What did you tell him?" Haldir's voice was now milder.

"I said my place is here with you. I will stay with you as long as you wish, but if you decide at some point that you want to be free of me," she added bravely, "then I will go."

He moved his left arm slightly, enough to tell her that he wished her hand in his. "I have no desire to be free of you. You are mine, Elanor. I need you and I want you as I have wanted and needed no one else in my life."

She bent and kissed his cheek, not once but several times. "Such sweetly spoken words," she whispered. "My heart sings to hear them."

He turned his head just enough to kiss her on the lips. "I wish I could do more than speak them," he murmured.

She kissed him back, lightly and lovingly. "And so you will when you are healed. I hope it will be an incentive for you to heal quickly."

"Indeed it is," he said, smiling faintly. "What did the letter say?"

The change in subject was like a cold dash of water in her face. Elanor sat back and sighed. "It was less dreadful than I feared. Lord Elrond did not tell them the exact nature of my offense, but my mother did seem to know about my sister's . . . deception." The memory of how easily Lana had deceived her still made Elanor feel both foolish and inept. Even now she bowed her head in shame.

"Let it go, Elanor," Haldir said softly. "None of that matters now."

Before she could reply, a light tap on the door announced a visitor. The door swung open to reveal no less a person than the Lady of Light herself. She greeted them pleasantly, moving gracefully forward with her eyes on Haldir.

Elanor jumped to her feet. "Please, my lady, take my seat. Would you like me to leave?"

Galadriel gazed benevolently at Elanor. "That is unnecessary, child. You may stay, but I will gladly sit for a moment, thank you." Elanor moved aside while Galadriel settled into the chair that she had vacated.

"Forgive me, my lady, for greeting you in this undignified manner," Haldir said. His discomfiture was obvious; he was unused to meetings with his Lady while lying helplessly on his back.

Galadriel's lips curved gently upward. "I hope you know that such an apology is unnecessary." She studied him in an intense yet compassionate way. "You are deeply troubled," she said quietly. "I feel it." She reached out and laid a hand upon his brow. "You fear a loss of honor and respect. I do not understand this fear. Have I not told you that your sense of duty is unrivaled and your honor knows no flaw?"

Haldir swallowed hard, his gaze held captive by the Lady of Lórien's fathomless sapphire eyes. "You have said this, my lady," he replied.

"Yet still you doubt." Her voice was stern, yet kindness lingered. "I have spoken to Elrond and I know about the indwaedh. It was a dangerous mistake to wear it without accustoming yourself to it first. However, you have learned from this mistake and are now wiser because of it. What more could I ask of you, my friend?"

"You could ask for a Marchwarden who did not make mistakes."

"But where would I find such an Elf?" she challenged. "I know of no one who has not erred in some way, myself included. Look at the Elves of our history, Haldir. How many of the greatest and noblest of our kind made decisions that led to unforeseen and regrettable consequences that they did not intend? What of Oropher, who led so many to slaughter in a hopeless battle? What of Elrond, who failed to persuade Isildur to destroy the One Ring when he had the chance? What of so many others I could name? Do we not still honor them in story and song? Do you suggest that we should not?"

"No, my lady," Haldir said humbly. "But I have sworn to protect all who live within the Golden Wood. I wish to serve rather than harm."

She nodded gravely. "And so you do. Your entire life has been one of service. You have no cause to feel ashamed."

Haldir seemed to hesitate for a moment, then he said, "Elves could have died, that is what haunts me."

"But they did not," she pointed out. "Not this time, in any case. Perhaps another time they will. That is an almost inescapable consequence of the battle we fight. Perhaps someday the dangers in Middle Earth will be no more, but until that day arrives, we carry on and do the best we can. We all know that those who guard our borders run the risk of death. Yet many willingly choose to serve in that capacity despite the risk. The danger is not of your making, Haldir. You are not solely responsible for its undoing." Her next words were spoken in a voice so low it was almost a whisper. "Your silent suffering has not escaped me. Your retreats to your secret place in the Wood have helped to ease it, but your guilt and sorrow linger on. Have I not told you that last year's incident was unavoidable? We spoke of this at the time, you and I. There was nothing you could have done to save them, yet still you blame yourself. That is not wise."

Galadriel's unyielding words reminded Elanor of what Haldir had confessed to her some weeks earlier. Three elves had died last year, he had said, because he had made some kind of error. Elanor watched the way Galadriel gazed deeply into Haldir's eyes. Was she now speaking to him within his mind?

"Do you understand?" Galadriel said aloud.

"Yes," Haldir whispered.

"Remember it, then. I need you to be strong for me. Mistakes are merely undesired consequences of choices. And choices are only choices, no more and no less. If they are made with honorable intentions, does that not play a part?"

"They must be made with honorable intentions," Haldir replied.

"That is not always so, and yet for you, Haldir, it is so. And that is why you will remain my Marchwarden. Is that understood?"

"Yes, my lady," Haldir said respectfully.

Another silent communication passed between them, then Galadriel rose to her feet, glancing once at Elanor and then at the table beside the bed. "You finished the broth I made?"

Haldir's eyes widened. "You made it, my lady?"

To Elanor's surprise, the Lady's blue eyes actually began to twinkle. "Indeed I did. It is an old concoction known to greatly aid with healing. It is made from the roots of the ninniach-loth. I journeyed there myself yesterday to gather them. Seven plants willingly donated a portion of themselves for you. The taste may not be pleasant, but I assure you it works."

Haldir appeared paler than he had before. "Thank you, my lady. I am deeply honored."

"You drank it all?" the Lady inquired.

"Most of it," he mumbled.

Galadriel exchanged a glance with Elanor. "And the rest?"

Haldir looked stricken.

"Ah well," Galadriel said, with an air of tranquil reflection, "I am sure the health of your plants is also important." She moved around the bed and touched Elanor's arm, her eyes sparkling with amusement she was trying to conceal from Haldir. "Celeborn did the same thing once," she confided. "Ellyn can be such naughty elflings when they are feeling poorly."

Elanor shook her head. "I am shocked, my lady."

"It only gets worse," confided the Lady of the Golden Wood, "after you marry them."

x

Having returned from his visit with Haldir, Orophin returned to his talan and Doria. He sat beside her on the little terrace outside his talan while she mended a torn seam on one of his tunics. More content than he had ever been in his life, he watched her lazily, noting the way her nimble fingers dipped the mithril needle in and out of the fabric so effortlessly and with such precision. Eventually his gaze drifted upward to her profile. She was so beautiful to him.

"What do you think it means?" she asked, without looking up.

"What does what mean?" he asked in an absent tone. For an instant he could not follow, for his attention centered on a pair of soft pink lips less than an arm's length away.

She glanced over at him. "I refer to what you were telling me about Haldir giving Elanor the indwaedh, and about the way he looks at her. Do you think he is in love with her?"

Orophin shrugged. "With Haldir, who can say? I think he cares deeply for her, but whether it will endure I do not know. All I know for certain is that when it comes to ellith, Haldir takes no ill-considered actions. He has guarded his heart for so long that it would take a rare maiden to get past its borders." He paused, his thoughts churning. "But this matter of the indwaedh . . . I admit it is odd, his giving it to her. Out of character, even."

Silence reigned for a time; Doria's needle dipped in and out of the fabric while Orophin rubbed his foot against hers and enjoyed the soft breeze rustling the leaves around them.

Doria spoke suddenly. "If you desire my opinion, I think she is truly in love with him, just the way I am in love with you. I hope he does not hurt her."

Orophin leaned closer and pressed a kiss to her cheek. "I admit she seems devoted, but their acquaintanceship is brief. Who knows where it will end? A few dozen years together may be enough, or it may not."

Doria lowered the tunic to her lap. "And what of us?" she inquired.

"Indeed, that is a question that very much intrigues me." Orophin reached for her hand and covered it with his own. "Did I not ask you to bind with me?"

"Yes," she admitted, her cheekbones a becoming shade of pink.

"When were you thinking of giving me an answer? Not that I wish to pressure you," he added quickly. "There is no need to rush such a weighty decision." He was conscious of a nervousness that he had not felt since the night of his begetting celebration.

"You are not rushing me, Orophin," she replied, "but it is a big decision, you must admit. One that ought to be made with a great deal of careful consideration."

"True," he said reluctantly. For all her wide smiles and giggly nature, Doria possessed a streak of wisdom that sometimes confounded him.

"And it is one that will affect us forever," she pointed out.

"So you have not yet decided." Disappointment flickered through him, but he tried to keep it from showing in his face.

"Oh, I made my decision weeks ago. But I thought you needed more time to be sure you had not been too impetuous when you suggested it."

Orophin gaped at her. "Me? Impetuous?"

"Well, you are," she said soothingly. "Upon occasion. And you must admit you suggested it very early in our relationship."

He nearly protested, but then her words sank in. "Your decision is made?"

She nodded. "It is. But I'd like to know your thoughts. You have had more time to consider this. Have you had any doubts at all? If so, you must tell me."

"I have had no doubts, not once, not for a moment," he declared, his voice low and almost fierce with fervency. "I wish to bind myself to you forever. Oh, I have had lovers before, you know this, but never have I felt what I feel for you, Doria."

"What do you feel for me, Orophin?" She was smiling now.

"Without you, I am only half an Elf," he said simply. "With you, I am complete. When we are together, my heart expands in a way that I cannot describe. It is a joy beyond joy, if that makes any sense to you. "

"Yes, it does," she said softly, "for it is also how I feel about you, my love. And for that reason and since it is still your wish . . . yes, Orophin, I will marry you and be your wife until all that is has ended and the world has passed away into whatever future Eru wills."

Orophin drew her against him and held her close, utter bliss surging through him with a power that he had never known. All around them the world seemed to pause and take note of this earth-shattering moment in his life; the breeze lulled, the birds paused in their singing, and distant voices came to a halt. It was only for an instant, but it marked the event in his mind for all eternity. His arms tightened just a little around Doria as though by doing so he could better convey to her the depth of his emotion.

"Be careful, Orophin," Doria cautioned in a muffled voice. "I am going to stick you with my needle if you hug me any tighter."

With a grin, Orophin released her and drew back. "A very wifely comment," he teased. "I will be sure and beware your weapon in all our future dealings."

Doria gave him one of those big, beautiful smiles that always melted his heart. "Shall we tell everyone today? Or do you wish to wait until after Haldir recovers?"

While he considered this, Orophin shifted his gaze from Doria's face to the view beyond the terrace. Suddenly, he focused on what he was viewing. "Do you see what I see?"

Doria followed his gaze. "My goodness, is that Rúmil?"

A slow grin curled the corners of Orophin's mouth. The sight of his younger brother romantically holding hands in public with an elleth was unusual enough, but the fact that it was Nerwen's hand he held so tenderly made it all the more significant.

"By the Valar, he has done it," Orophin breathed aloud. "He has won her!"

"And she has won him, judging from the expression on his face. He looks like—"

"--a love-struck calf," Orophin filled in. "I wonder if he realizes."

"I expect he does not care," Doria said gently. "But you will tease him all the same."

"Of course." Orophin grinned and hugged her close. "What are brothers for?"

x

Nerwen was delighting in the firm, possessive grip of Rúmil's hand on hers as they strolled along one of the most central walkways in the city on their way to pay Haldir a visit. Somehow she had expected that Rúmil would wish to keep their love for one another a secret for a while, but this was clearly not the case; already she was sure that his devotion had been noted by many, including several of her closest friends.

"You do not have to hold my hand, Rúmil, if you would rather not," she said in an undertone. At this point she fully accepted his love, but all the same she was a bit concerned that this open demonstration might bring them more attention and teasing than either of them wished.

"Nerwen, how can you suggest that I might not wish to hold your hand?" he replied, in a mock-injured tone. "Do you think I am not proud to have won the love of the loveliest elleth in all of Lórien?"

"Loveliest?" Nerwen snorted delicately. "I think not. Healea holds that title, as well you know. I do not need flattery, Rúmil. I just need you to love me, that is . . . that is all." The sentence ended more quietly than it had started, and with a little wobble in her voice, for she was still feeling rather emotional and fragile after all her heartache where he was concerned.

Rúmil bent and kissed the corner of your mouth, then lifted her chin with his finger. "Then all your needs are met, for I love you more than life itself. And to me, Nerwen, you are the loveliest elleth, both inside and out. And remember, I have seen every part of you now and am quite qualified to make this ruling."

Happiness bathed her in its warm glow. "Must you remind me of your rakish past?" she teased. "I prefer to think of you as all mine."

He released her hand and slipped his arm around her waist, drawing her close so that he could press his lips to her brow. "I am yours, my love, and you are mine. All others are in the past, where they will remain." He smiled down at her, his eyes appreciatively taking her in. "And I am content."

It was enough for Nerwen to throw caution and conservatism to the wind; she turned in Rúmil's arms and slipped her own around his neck. "I am glad," she whispered. "Because there is no turning back now. I have written my name on you."

His eyes darkened to a midnight hue. "Yes, I can still feel it here and there, but we ought not to speak of it unless you wish me to drag you straight back to my bed. Our destination is downward, to the healing talan, remember?"

"Your destination is always downward, Rúmil," Nerwen murmured naughtily. She saw his head turn quickly, and she squeezed his hand to let him know it was a jest. "That was not a complaint, mind you," she explained with a secretive smile.

He laughed softly. "I am glad. Still, too many more remarks like that, and my resolution to attend my brother will be obscured by other rising matters. In fact that is one matter that is not directed downward."

A tiny giggle escaped her throat. "Oh, Rúmil."

He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. "Admit it, you like my playful side just as much as my serious side. You find me witty and irresistible."

"Perhaps I do," she said, still smiling. "I will have to think about it."

How good it felt to relax and joke with him instead of constantly being on her guard. For so long she had kept up a carefree appearance that hid her inner turmoil. What a relief it was to be free to be herself with him at last!

She glanced up at him, admiring his slim elegance and ingenuously appealing face with an inward sigh of contentment. "And what shall we do after we visit your brother?"

"Oh, I thought I'd spend the rest of the day on the archery field," he mused. "I will strip off my tunic so you can admire me while I practice. You may fetch my arrows for me, and ogle my muscles while I pull back the string on my mighty bow and aim one of my impressive ar-- Ouch! Nerwen! Was that called for?"

"Indeed it was. Behave yourself, Rúmil, or your impressive arrow is going to find itself without a target," she warned, trying without success to hide her bubbling laughter.

"Now, that's the Nerwen I know and love so much." He rubbed his backside where she had pinched him and pretended to frown. "What was the question again?"

"You told me you would spend the whole day with me, Rúmil, and I asked you what you wished to do after we visit your brother."

He shook his head. "Nerwen, Nerwen, surely you know better than to ask me that."

"Do I?" Smiling back at him, she tucked her hand back into his.

x

Healea entered the bathhouse alone, for Túre was nowhere to be found and at the moment she did not wish for the company of any other of her friends. She paused inside the cloth-enclosed structure, studying the pool's single occupant with mild curiosity. The other elleth lounged with her eyes closed, her face devoid of emotion even though Healea guessed she must be seething with them.

"May I join you?" she inquired in a low voice.

Tarwë opened her eyes. "Of course, Healea," she said politely. She sounded a little surprised, most likely because it was not Healea's custom to ask permission before doing something. Why had she asked? The answer eluded her.

Healea removed her gown and hung it on a hook, noting how the younger elleth watched her with a rather melancholy expression. Pretty Tarwë clearly believed her love for Lurien to be a well-guarded secret, and perhaps it was from most of the others. But Healea had been keeping a wary eye on the Sentinel for a very long time. No matter who he dallied with, she had noticed that he was always drawn back to Tarwë, like a moth attracted to the hottest and brightest flame. Healea had drawn her own conclusions.

Still, Lurien was a troublemaker and a potential threat to Haldir, and now perhaps even to Elanor, and if Healea could do anything to thwart him then she would do it. The old memory of her dalliance with Lurien and Haldir rose in her mind as she waded into the water and settled onto her favorite perch along a low, smooth rock. Of the two ellyn, she had only loved Haldir, but it had not been the kind of love that sustained and nurtured, and it would eventually have burned itself out if they had continued on together. Only Cothion had ever truly touched her heart in that unique and wondrous way that she needed . . . and he was hers. Dear, dear Cothion. She smiled fondly as she always did when he entered her thoughts.

Yes, she was very satisfied with her life, but it was obvious that Tarwë was unhappy and had been so for a long time. Such pretty eyes should not hold such wretchedness. Healea's compassion stirred, and she searched her mind for something tactful to say. "Why do you accommodate him?" she said bluntly.

"Accommodate who?" Tarwë's face became a studied mask of puzzlement.

"Lurien, of course. He is breaking your heart, is he not?"

As if by magic the mask fell away, revealing a look of almost unspeakable anguish on the younger elleth's face. "He is trying," she answered bitterly.

Healea frowned. "Why do you allow it?"

"I have no choice. My heart is his."

"Nonsense, of course you have a choice. Unless and until you bind yourself to him, your heart is your own. The same with your body. Withhold yourself from him until he does as you wish. He is but an ellon, and all ellyn can be brought to heel."

A ghost of a smile touched Tarwë's lips. "How like you to say such a thing, Healea. Yet you failed to tame Lurien, did you not?" The words were not a taunt, but a valid observation made in a civil tone of inquiry.

"Ah, but I did not want to tame him, therein lies the difference. I preferred him undomesticated." Healea smiled reminiscently. "He was so different from Haldir. I always wished I could have had them both at once, but that was not possible given their dislike for each other. But it would have been exciting, like bathing in fire and ice." She stretched languorously in the water, curious whether she had shocked Tarwë with her remark.

Tarwë did not look shocked. "And in the end you chose Cothion," she said, her blue eyes fixed on Healea's face.

"Yes." Healea's smile grew. "Cothion is all things to me—fire, ice, and everything in between. He suits me well."

"You are fortunate indeed." Glumness tinged the polite remark.

Healea sighed. "You enable Lurien to be as he is," she said, "because you tolerate it."

Tarwë's lips compressed.

Healea debated how much more forthright she wished to be, then added baldly, "You allow him to abuse you."

"He does not abuse me," Tarwë protested a bit huffily. "He loves me. He told me so—against his will, I might add."

Healea splashed water on her arms and face while she absorbed this. "You believe him?"

"I do. But he has an obsession he cannot seem to overcome. It hinders him from accepting my love or his own."

Healea nodded, thinking this over. "The obsession with Haldir, yes I know. And I would feel responsible, except that its true origins go back much farther than their mutual . . . disagreement over me."

"Which you enjoyed," Tarwë pointed out with slight hostility. "And helped to create."

"I was much younger then and far less wise. And I did not enjoy it as much as you imagine. In truth I was rather mortified. At the time I was considering both of them as potential mates." Healea hesitated for a moment. "I came to realize that neither of them was considering me in that same light. It rather damaged my vanity, but I recovered," she added, her lips twisting ruefully. "With Cothion's help."

"I am glad for you, Healea," Tarwë said with irony.

"Come now, do not be unfriendly. I am trying to help you."

"Forgive me. I am not in the best of humors at the moment."

"I understand," Healea said, with a bit more gentleness. She had tried one tactic, now she would try another. "I truly do. But the only thing that I can see for you to do is to issue an ultimatum of some sort. Put your foot down with Lurien. Deny him what he wants from you until he is ready to behave."

"Such a course of action is not easy for me," Tarwë said shortly. "I am not manipulative by nature. And I love him so m-much." Her breath hitched, her face crumpling for just an instant before she regained control of herself.

Healea studied Tarwë, suddenly very angry with Lurien for being so blind. "Shall I speak with him? Would that be acceptable to you?"

Tarwë looked startled. "What would you say?"

"I would tell him what I think of him, for a start. And then I would tell him what I think of you."

"What do you think of me?" Tarwë's blue eyes held a wary concern that nearly made Healea laugh.

"For one thing, I think you are too good for him. And I think you are a lovely, gentle-hearted maiden with intelligence, wit, wisdom and humor. And I think he could find no better elleth in all of Arda or Aman, and that he should thank his lucky star that you are willing to even look at him."

Tarwë blushed bright pink. "Healea, do you mean it?"

"I would not say it if I did not." Healea smiled languidly and leaned down so that her hair flowed into the water. "So shall I speak to him or not?"

"If you wish," Tarwë said with seeming difficulty. "But I do not see it changing anything."

"It never hurts to try," Healea answered.

x

Healea returned briefly to her talan to put on a clean gown, one of pale blue that floated around her as she walked. She frowned at the mirror, her thoughts on Tarwë as she pulled a comb through her long, damp hair.

Cothion had been sitting on the terrace, but he appeared suddenly behind her, his hands cupping her shoulders. "You are going out again?"

"Yes, for a time. I will not be gone long."

Their eyes met in the mirror. "You could have bathed here," he said. "There was water enough."

"I left it for you," she said mildly. "In any case it is good that I went to the bathhouse." She turned to face him, then proceeded to summarize her conversation with Tarwë. "I am going to speak to Lurien."

Cothion was frowning. "I wish you would stay out of this, Healea. It is not your concern."

"True enough, but I am angry, Cothion, and this is the way I must deal with it. Lurien will not harm me."

"No, but I would prefer the two of you exchanged no further unpleasantries."

Healea slid her arms around his neck, pressing against him with wanton suggestiveness. "And why is that, dear husband?"

He smiled slightly, his hands resting lightly on her hips. "Many reasons, my love. I wish to protect you, for one thing."

"I do not need protection," she murmured. "What I need is to unleash my anger and be rid of it. Then I can return to you, and perhaps we will find some way to entertain ourselves."

Cothion sighed and kissed her on the brow. "Then go unleash your anger as quickly and discreetly as possible. I pity the Sentinel."

"Do not waste your sympathy," she retorted. "He does not deserve it." She left him and went out into the night, heading for Lurien's talan. She had seen him earlier and knew he was off duty, but now she wondered briefly whether he might be with someone. Her lips curved at the thought of interrupting him at an inconvenient moment, but for Tarwë's sake, she hoped he was alone.

He was.

He came to the door wearing nothing but his leggings, and looked as though he had been sleeping. "Healea," he said with hostility. She could see that he was startled though he veiled it quickly.

"May I come in?" she said without preamble. "I have something to say to you."

He stepped aside and widened the door, his hand extended in open invitation. "I am honored," he said in a mocking voice. "Healea herself in my humble home . . . how many years has it been since that occurred?"

"I have not kept count," she said coolly as she swept past him. She walked around the outer room, her gaze assessing his domain, noting the meticulous arrangement of his belongings and the half-eaten loaf of bread upon his table. She saw no sign that any elleth had been there, but that meant nothing.

Affecting a bored look, Lurien sauntered toward the largest and most comfortable chair and sat down. "I suppose this is about Elanor."

Healea looked down her nose at him. "No, that business is settled as far as I'm concerned. I am her archery instructor when Haldir is unavailable. You are superfluous, Lurien. I think I made that clear."

Her oblique reference to the day she had fisted him in his jaw made him flush with anger. "Make your point then." He crossed his arms over his chest, a pose that flattered him, she noted with detachment.

"This is about Tarwë," she informed him.

"What of her?" He lifted his brows, looking haughty and in control of himself.

"She loves you," Healea stated abruptly, and saw him flinch. "And you are hurting her. When did you become so cruel, Lurien? You used to have a few admirable qualities, but where are they now?"

Lurien's jaw thrust forward. "I am not cruel," he protested. "Tarwë does not think me so. We have an understanding that is none of your concern."

"Let me tell you something, Sentinel. You are unfit to wash Tarwë's feet, but even so she seems to love you. I know not why, for you are a worthless little slug of an ellon despite your pretty face. But for some reason I cannot fathom, she is devoted to you. She loves you and she suffers, and you are the cause! I have seen the depth of her suffering. Have you?"

White with anger, Lurien shot to his feet, breathing hard through clenched teeth. "Do not say another word, Healea," he warned.

"Tarwë is a sweet and gentle soul," she said relentlessly, "warm and witty and steadfast in her love for you. You could spend the rest of your immortal life searching for a better maiden, but you would not find one, Lurien, because none exists. Have you thought of this? Have you thought what you will you if she abandons you? What will you do if she sails to the West? What will you do if she fades from grief because of your mistreatment? How will you live with yourself? Is revenge so important to you? Haldir lies helpless and injured while you--"

"Be silent!" he cut in furiously. "You know nothing of this matter."

Healea curled her lip with contempt. "I know enough to know that you are little better than an Orc."

"Get out," he said. His voice was flat, as though all of his anger had suddenly fled.

"I have advised her to avoid you," Healea told him calmly. Her anger was spent and her voice was cold. "I do not know if she will heed my advice."

Lurien stood silent, his eyes watchful.

"My advice to you is to consider carefully what you are doing. If you do not want her as she wants you, then set her free. Either that, or do the honorable thing. Ask her to forgive you and commit yourself to her."

"I do not want your advice," he muttered.

"You have it anyway." Healea turned on her heel and left the talan.

x

Galadriel leaned into Celeborn's embrace as they sat together on their terrace high above the city that they ruled. Her head rested against his, her eyes directed upward toward the stars while the whispering wind sighed around them like a familiar friend. A great owl hooted from its home nearby, another old friend who had chosen this place to nest for many seasons now.

Celeborn broke the silence. "How much of that ghastly brew did he drank?"

"About half, I would guess," she answered.

"That's more than you ever got into me."

"True." Galadriel smiled at the memory.

"Was it enough, do you think?"

"Oh yes." She shifted slightly and sighed. "If only I could take away his guilt. His emotions run deep, like a swift and powerful river trapped between the granite cliffs of his will."

Celeborn rubbed his cheek against her hair. "Give him time. I am more concerned about this vision in your mirror."

"I am concerned too. Each time it grows a little clearer, yet never enough to clarify its significance or meaning."

"You say I reach out for something."

"Yes, you reach out quickly."

"And you are there also," Celeborn added in a pensive voice.

"I am behind you. And behind me stands another, but I cannot see a face."

"Where are we standing?"

"I cannot say for sure. It is unclear."

Celeborn frowned. "We need answers, Galadriel. Have you spoken of this to Elrond?"

"Not yet. I will do so soon."

"Do not wait long." He turned his head and smiled down at her, then kissed her gently on the lips. "Shall I sing to you, my love?"

tbc


	29. Chapter TwentyNine

To our readers – thank you so very, very much for your feedback; it is very much appreciated. Apologies once more for the length of time between updates. RL does get in the way sometimes. Anyway, hope you enjoy this one!

xxx

**Chapter Twenty-Nine**

On the day Galadriel had gifted Haldir with her special broth, the Lady of Lórien had explained her reasons for making it. In general, she had explained to Elanor, an elf had no need of such restoratives since all elves tended to heal quickly from even the most serious wounds. However, despite Elrond's assurances that Haldir would heal, Galadriel could go where the Peredhel could not – into Haldir's thoughts and memories of the battle. And she knew perhaps even better than Haldir himself exactly what had occurred, for she had witnessed the battle through his viewpoint. She understood better than the other healers how greatly weakened Haldir was, and she had seen the vast amount of blood he had lost.

Aware of Elanor's interest, Galadriel had explained that the primary curative value of the ninniach-loth root was its capacity to accelerate blood regeneration. And that was what Haldir had needed, even if he had only taken half the broth. Half should be sufficient, the Lady had assured Elanor, still with that little twinkle in her eye that Elanor found so intriguing.

Galadriel's broth was indeed having an effect, for within two days Haldir was stronger and more alert, which meant that he was less cooperative with everyone, including Elanor.

"Lord Elrond says you must lie still for at least another day or two," she insisted for the fourth time, her hand firmly planted in the middle of Haldir's stomach just below the ribcage. That she could keep him down with the strength of one hand illustrated that he was not yet ready for exercise, but he did not seem to see this.

"I do not care what he says, Elanor. Please remove your hand. I would like to take a walk."

"Haldir, you are being stubborn. I thought you wanted to heal as quickly as possible."

"I do, Elanor. And I will." Again he tried to rise, and again she easily pushed him down with one hand.

"You will not heal if you start bouncing around," she told him with exasperation. "Your bruises may be disappearing, but your ribs are still cracked, and one may be broken. They have not had adequate time to mend, nor have your shoulders. Even if you are stronger than yesterday, you are still weak."

The fingers of Haldir's left hand closed around her wrist, yet he exerted little force. "I am not going to bounce around, Elanor. I leave the bouncing to you."

"What do you mean by that? I do not bounce!"

Haldir's smile was almost a smirk. "Perhaps because you are too busy to notice when it happens." His thumb rubbed her arm suggestively.

"What do you mean?" Elanor placed a second hand upon Haldir's stomach, applying slightly more pressure. "No, never mind. I do not wish to know."

"If you must persist in doing that, you might think about going a little lower," he said grouchily.

Elanor regarded him with mock severity. "I know you are in a bad mood, but there is no reason to take it out on me. Perhaps if you had taken all the broth instead of dumping part of it on my poor plants—

He lifted an imperious brow. "I thought they were my plants."

Elanor removed her hands from his body and sat down rather abruptly in the chair. "They are," she said stiffly. "I misspoke."

Haldir immediately looked repentant. "Elanor, forgive me. I have hurt your feelings and that was not my intention. I am just frustrated. I hate lying here like this. I hate feeling helpless and dependent on any one." He paused. "I should be strong and not weak. But that is no excuse for being so . . . "

"Testy and peevish," she finished for him, "and ornery and difficult."

He made a slight grimace. "Am I really that bad?"

"Yes, but I do not fault you for it. I understand your frustration, but you must try to rest another day or two before you do the things you want to do. Recover a little more of your strength. Please," she added softly. "For my sake if not your own."

He sighed. "Very well, I will try . . . for your sake."

"Thank you." She leaned down and kissed him.

"They are more your plants than mine," he remarked. "They are probably ready to bite me for what I just said to you. And I would deserve it."

Elanor shook her head and smiled. "Shall I bathe you now? I know the water soothes your flesh. Perhaps it would improve your temper."

Haldir made another grimace and looked at the ceiling.

"Or would you rather sleep?" she added, studying him closely. His color had returned to normal, and for that she was profoundly thankful, but he was certainly not yet himself.

"No, I do not wish to sleep." He turned his head, the pupils of his eyes now holding a raw glitter as they slid over her. "Elanor, you have no idea how difficult it is to lie here and do nothing while you bathe me."

All at once she was aware of his nakedness in a way she had not been a moment before. "Haldir . . ." she said doubtfully.

"Before, I was only half conscious and in great pain. Now I am fully conscious and aware. To be more precise, if you bathe me, one part of me would like a great deal more attention than it has been getting. Otherwise it will be torment for me."

Elanor instinctively glanced at the blanket covering his hips; it tented upward ever so slightly, announcing his desire more surely than words. "What if someone comes?" she said uncertainly.

"Use the privacy latch, and be quick. I will not require very much of your touch. I have done little but dream of this for the past two days." His voice sounded strained and husky. "In fact, I am almost ready now. Speaking of my need has increased it."

She smiled lovingly. "If I do this for you, will it help you be less grouchy?"

"Of course it will. Please, Elanor. You know what to do. Use those magic hands of yours to give me ease."

How could she resist such a beguiling request?

"And you will agree to rest quietly in bed today and tomorrow?" she inquired.

He gave her a stoic look. "Yes, but after that I make no promises. What do you say, sweetling?" He was watching her intently, patiently, with an air of expectancy. He was certain she would take pity on him . . . as of course she would.

Elanor brushed her lips lingeringly against his. "I will take care of you, my love," she whispered. "But you will owe me, you know."

"A debt I will be glad to repay in full," he murmured thickly, "as soon as I am able."

x

Ever since he and Doria had agreed to wed, Orophin had been floating around Caras Galadhon in a blissful haze, wondering if anyone would notice anything different about him if they looked closely. Apparently not, since no one had commented. Or perhaps they were all so used to his smiles that they did not notice any change in their quality. Of course he had stopped smiling those first days Haldir had been injured, but now Haldir was on the mend, which left Orophin free to feel completely happy once more. Doria was to be his wife, the world was beautiful and life was perfect. Or at least his life was.

He would have liked to share his joyous news with Haldir and Rúmil, but the right time had not yet presented itself. Rúmil had been so occupied with Nerwen that Orophin had scarcely seen him and as for Haldir, with each day that passed he was becoming more snappish and irritable. No, the appropriate moment to make his grand announcement had not presented itself. And since he would tell no one before he told his own brothers, he would keep it to himself until the time was right.

With these thoughts churning in his head, Orophin halted at the foot of the spiraling staircase and gazed around him with reverence, silently taking in the gleaming shafts of sunlight filtering downward through the golden leaves, the pleasant sound of voices in the distance, the peaceful rustle and coo of nearby wood doves. Here and there various elves were going gracefully about their business, the soft fabric of their garb shimmering as they walked. All at once he spotted the person he was looking for.

"Rúmil," he called, just as Rúmil disappeared around a turn in the path some distance ahead. Orophin lengthened his pace and soon caught up with his brother, who halted, a questioning look on his face.

"So," said Orophin slyly, "are you going to tell me?"

"Tell you what?" Rúmil said unhelpfully.

"I saw you with Nerwen yesterday," Orophin prodded. "And the day before as well."

"And you will see me with her many more times." Rúmil's voice was calm and he met Orophin's gaze squarely. "We are in love."

Orophin pretended to reach for his sword. "Who are you, and what have you done with my brother?"

Rúmil smiled sheepishly. "I know this is a bit unexpected."

"Not entirely. I saw how terrified she was when she feared you meant not to take proper care with your life at the Fences. She also told me she was no more than a challenge you could not resist." His statement held an implied question.

"She now knows that is untrue." Rúmil rubbed his chin, then gave a quick smile. "Fear not, we have spoken of these things. All is well now. She has accepted my carving and she has accepted . . . me."

His meaning was clear, but Orophin could not resist the urge to tease. "Ah, so it is not as a little brother that she sees you?"

"Er, no." Rúmil's eyes held a gleam of inner satisfaction. "Not at all."

"I am glad to hear it." Orophin hesitated as another thought came to him. "Yet I am also wary."

"Wary?" Rúmil stiffened defensively. "Why?"

"You said she wished you to change, to be more serious. It seems to me that does not bode well. If she truly loves you, she will accept you as you are, not as she wishes you to be."

"Ah, but I do have a serious side, you know this." Rúmil clapped a hand to Orophin's shoulder. "Worry not, brother. Nerwen has accepted me as I am, and loves me beyond all doubt or reservation. Such love is a constant, the only one we have." Wonder tinged his voice as he spoke.

"You truly are in love. I see it in your eyes."

"You will never see me with another elleth." Rúmil spoke so solemnly that Orophin could not doubt.

"I am glad for you," he said quietly. His gaze moved past Rúmil to where Nerwen had just come into view further along the path that led to several of the gardens. "And since I see you are about to have company, I will take my leave. I had something to tell you, but it can wait."

Rúmil swiveled, his attention already locked on the smiling elleth walking toward them. "Something to tell me?" he repeated vaguely.

"We can speak of it later," Orophin said with amusement. He waved at Nerwen and walked away with a grin.

x

Rúmil hurried to Nerwen's side, drinking in the sight of her with indescribable emotion. She had been about her morning tasks, and had agreed to meet him here after they had been completed, but even that brief parting had seemed too long. He slid his arms around her waist without a moment hesitation, gladdened by her immediate acceptance of his embrace, despite the fact that she was holding a small woven basket covered by a white cloth. Holding her close, he shut his eyes and whispered, "I missed you."

The side of her face pressed against his neck, and he could feel her smile. "It has not been that long," she murmured, "but I missed you also." She pulled away a little. "I brought us some bread and fruit. You did not eat this morning."

Rúmil laughed softly. "I drank of your nectar, my love. What more sustenance could I require?"

A secret smile curved her lips. "You are quite shameless, Rúmil, but I love you too much to care. Come, let us find a quiet place that is not quite so visible."

"Galadriel's garden," Rúmil suggested.

She glanced at him, looking a little surprised. "Why, certainly, if you wish it."

"I do," he said. He had a reason.

In fact, he led her to a particular place that held great significance to him. "Here," he said with a gesture. "This is where I would like to sit."

He watched her carefully, noting every fluctuation in her expression as she set down the basket and sat upon the grass. She glanced up at him, looking so lovely and desirable that his mouth went dry, but he could not think of that, not here in this spot that had become, to him, sacred ground.

"Do you remember this place, Nerwen?" He could see that her eyes were shining a little more brightly than they had before, as though with a sheen of moisture.

"Yes, I do, Rúmil. But I did not realize that you did."

He lowered himself to sit alongside her and regarded her earnestly. "I have never forgotten what happened here in this very spot when I was grieving for Ainon. I have not forgotten what you did for me."

"I did what I did because I loved you," she said quietly. "Just as much as I do now."

He took her hand in his. "I know that now. But I never thanked you for it, and that troubles me. Nay, it tears at my heart in a most painful way."

"There was never any need to thank me," she protested. "You were in pain. I did what I could to help. That is all."

He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it ever so gently. "There is every need. You gave everything you had, and I gave nothing in return. That was wrong."

"You gave me the opportunity to offer you comfort. To be allowed that privilege was a great gift."

"I do not find it adequate. Therefore, I wish to take this moment to tell you what it meant to me. Will you permit that?"

"Of course, Rúmil. If you wish it." She bowed her head.

He drew a deep breath. "Nerwen, when Ainon died, it was like losing one of my brothers. Other than Orophin, he was my closest childhood friend. I was unprepared for such pain, and I blamed myself because . . . " He looked down at the ground; these words were difficult to speak aloud. " . . . because I was so close to him when he was struck down. I had nearly aimed at the Orc whose arrow killed him, but instead I chose another as my target. If I had chosen differently, Ainon would be alive today. That knowledge burned in my heart like poison. No wound could ever inflict such pain as that."

"Oh, Rúmil," Nerwen whispered. Her blue eyes filled with tears.

"And then you came," he told her. "You came and you sat right here upon the grass. You reached for my hand and you held it. I did not look at you; I could not, for my pain was too great. But it felt so good. The places where our fingers touched were alive and warm, whereas all the rest of me was cold." He inhaled raggedly, recalling the hopeless and horrendous anguish of that time. "At first I resisted because it felt wrong to know even a slight easing of my pain. And yet . . . and yet it also felt right, for no reason I understood. So I did not resist because it eased my torment just a bit. And as the hours passed, the warmth spread. I now know why."

"Why?" she whispered, her fingers tightening around his.

"Because it was you," he said simply. "My heart must have known, even though my head did not. I do not think there is another in all of Lórien who could have eased my pain that day."

"Galadriel?" she proposed, her voice soft. "Perhaps she could have done so."

"Perhaps so, but she was wise enough to leave that for you. It was your task. She told me so."

"Did she?" Nerwen looked astonished. "When?"

"A few weeks ago. On the night she caught me hanging from a branch in an effort to eavesdrop on you ladies in the bathhouse."

She blinked at him. "You are not serious?"

With a twisted smile, Rúmil explained, and she was soon shaking her head.

"Oh, Rúmil," she said, a laugh in her voice, "only you would do such a thing."

"In any case," he went on hastily, "Lady Galadriel said it was not her task to comfort me, that another had chosen it. So she must have known that you would do what you did. She also said that I will see Ainon again one day."

"I see." Nerwen pondered this. "And if she says this, it must be so. That must be a great comfort to you."

"It is," he agreed. "In my heart, I knew he was not lost, but grief obscured all else. Until you, Nerwen. You are the one who gave me hope and peace and deliverance from despair and fear." He leaned closer, gazing at her attentively. "Lady Galadriel told me that love is fear's opposite. She said that love is alive, and I have come to believe this is true. It is the only thing that never fades, Nerwen, and as long as we have it . . . as long as we live it . . . we can never be lost, nor can we ever fade. Love is what gives meaning to our lives, and it is the gift you gave me, Nerwen. And for that, I honor you as I have honored no other." He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed the tips of her fingers as one would a queen.

In return, Nerwen leaned over and kissed him gently on the cheek. "And I honor you also, my dear Rúmil. I am yours forever if you want me."

"I do want you," he said, feeling unusually light of heart and body. He was unused to baring his feelings in this way, but it also felt good. He sat back with a smile and squeezed her hand. "You see, I told you I could be serious. It does not happen often, but it does happen."

"Indeed, Rúmil, I am convinced. And also most content."

He glanced down at the basket. "Well, then, shall we eat? So much seriousness has given me an appetite. It usually does, I warn you."

Nerwen laughed and kissed him again. "I will bear that in mind."

x

Túre lay in Telrion's arms, enjoying his warmth and masculine scent as well as the peacefulness that enfolded her heart. All their moments so far had been timeless – including this one, for it seemed to her that time no longer existed, and perhaps never had. She could not recall ever feeling like this before, and it rather dazed her, lulling her into a strange awareness that greater forces existed in Eru's world than could ever be understood by even the wisest of Elves. She did not understand where this knowledge came from or what it meant. She only knew that she had tapped into something that went far beyond her comprehension or experience.

Then, abruptly, a new thought washed over her like a cool rain. What would happen next? Telrion was not of Lórien. He was a visitor. And visitors left when the visit was over.

He awoke just as these thoughts were passing through her head, his eyes seeking hers before she could shield her disquiet. "What is wrong, Túre? You look worried."

Forcing a smile, she brushed a finger along the curve of his cheekbone. "Nothing. I am quite content. Did you rest well?"

"I have never rested better." He draped an arm around her waist, pulling her close. "I feel as though I have come home." His warm, sweet breath tickled her ear.

"Home," she repeated, sighing a little. "How I wish that were true."

Lifting his head, he gave her a quizzical look, then lithely rolled on top of her and raised himself up on his elbows. "I am in a bit of a quandary on that very matter," he confessed, gazing deeply into her eyes. "I hope you understand that I cannot stay in Lórien. I serve Lord Elrond, and though I might have made light of the matter, the truth is that I am rather valuable to him."

"I am sure you are," she answered, trying hard to be brave despite the sinking feeling in her chest. "I would not expect him to part with you. I do understand."

He kissed her lightly on the lips. "You are so wonderful. I knew you would. And you also understand what that means, do you not?"

"Yes," she said in a small voice. How long would it be before she saw him again? Years? Or longer?

"It does not appeal to you?" He searched her face, his blue eyes sharp with inquiry.

"How could it?" she replied. She knew honesty was called for, though it meant baring her heart to him. "To be parted from you will hurt, but I am strong. However long it is before you return, I will be patient. I can wait, even if it is . . . many years." Only the slightest tremor shook her voice.

He was looking at her oddly. "Túre, I am asking you to come to Imladris with me. I want to take you with me when I go."

Her heart leaped. "Oh! I thought you meant . . ." She knew she was turning bright pink, but her delight outweighed her embarrassment. "Oh, Tel, I am so happy!"

"You thought I meant to leave you? After all you have suffered? Do I look that cruel to you?" His gaze was reproachful now, but also tender. "Have I not made it clear how grateful I am to have found you? How can you think that I would want to walk away from you?"

"I do not know," she stammered breathlessly. "I never hoped . . . or thought . . . " Yet she had indeed hoped, had she not? "At least not this soon," she explained, determined to be honest. "I hoped eventually . . . but I did not expect . . . that you would want me that much." In fact, until this morning she had not dared to think beyond the present moment.

"I want you that much and more," he said decisively. As if to seal this vow, he leaned down and kissed her once, twice and three times upon the lips. And then his mouth began to roam, trailing over her neck and shoulders, moving lower and lower in a searing exploration that quickly escalated into something greater, a new path pushing them toward heights yet unexplored.

Their joining was intense, fraught with emotion that was the culmination of all that either of them had ever yearned for and not found . . . until now. With every thrust, fiery sensation rushed through Túre like sparks of pure joy invading every corner of her being. When the culmination came, she arched against him with a low, almost keening moan of delight while Telrion gasped and cried out his own pleasure.

Afterward he held her, stroking a soothing hand down her back while she came back to her senses. "You are so beautiful," he whispered. "I love to watch you when it happens."

Túre sifted her fingers through his beautiful raven black hair, her body still throbbing with small ripples of intense pleasure. "I could say the same of you."

She watched him reach over to the table beside the bed and withdraw the daisy from its vase. Smiling, he tucked it into her hair. "There," he said tenderly. "That is better."

x

Lurien sprawled on the bench on Tarwë's little terrace, gazing morosely up at the softly rustling mellyrn. He had spent most of the night out here, for she had not welcomed him and yet he had found he could not leave. The entire night had been torture to him. She had allowed him to sleep in her bed, but she had refused his touch, something she had never done before. He had spent the better part of the night cursing Healea for it, but as the sun rose, reality began to sink in. The fault was his. He deserved this. Earned it, even.

Never in his long life had he felt so conflicted, so empty and bleak. It was almost as though the light of the Eldar was threatening to leave him, although it could not be true. No, he had no intention of fading. He would complete what he had started, then he would be free to walk another path. A higher one that would not leave him feeling like this.

He shoved that thought aside before it could grasp him with long fingers of guilt and discontent. First, he had to finish what he'd started. For too long had he hated Haldir. It was not something he could just release, not without a reckoning of some sort. A confrontation that would grant him his chance to face Haldir head on. Yes, a reckoning, that was he needed. The inevitability of it pumped the blood through his body.

Haldir had denied him this for centuries now, never allowing himself to be goaded as he had that day he had found Lurien with Healea. It was as though, with that single victory, he thought he had established victory for all time. And that was not the case.

"Lurien?" Tarwë's soft voice broke into his thoughts. "Have you been here all night?"

He turned to watch her as she approached, looking breathtakingly beautiful in the delicate white nightgown she had refused to let him take off. Her fair hair was tousled and her face was pale. Had she slept at all?

"I could not leave you," he said deliberately. It was the truth.

She came to sit beside him on the bench, one hand reaching out to touch his arm. "You ought to rest."

He shook his head. "I am on duty soon." Back to his noble duty, where he stood and did nothing because Lórien's wardens protected their borders so very well. His lips twisted with the thought.

"You know I am proud of you, do you not?" Tarwë asked quietly. "I am proud that you are a Sentinel. I am proud that if danger threatened our city, you have the skill and strength to protect us. You are a good ellon in your heart. I know it."

He could not answer. He simply stared at her hand where it rested on his arm, wondering how she could go on loving him as she did. How long had she loved him? When had it started? At the moment of their first joining? Or at some other moment?

"Have you eaten anything?"

"I am not hungry." He rose to his feet, knowing he had little time before he had to report to his station.

"Lurien," she said in a tentative voice.

"Yes?" He gazed down at her, trying to subdue the enormous surge of emotion welling up in him. Strangely, he was not angry at her for denying him her body, nor could not blame her.

"I love you still," she whispered. "Almost more than I can bear."

Valar help him.

"I love you also," he said curtly. He stared at her for a moment, feeling something agonizing twist inside him, then he reached out and touched her hair.

He left her without looking back.

x

Healea set down her quill as Cothion entered their talan. For weeks she had been laboring on the translation of a new manuscript acquired from Master Erestor of Imladris, who had sent it along with the Lord and Lady after their recent visit. This particular manuscript involved old histories from the first age, and when she had finished translating it from Quenya to Sindarin, it would join the others in Lord Celeborn's library. The original would be returned to Imladris.

"Still working, my love?" Cothion asked mildly. Walking over to her, he pushed her hair aside and began to knead her shoulders.

She arched her head from side to side, enjoying the skill of his fingers. "That feels wonderful. I did not realize how stiff I was until this moment."

"You never do." She could hear the smile in his voice. "Incidentally, are you aware that Túre has taken up with one of the Imladris elves?"

"What?" Alarm shot through Healea. "Are you certain?"

"It would be hard to mistake such open affection. She looked blissfully happy." Seeing her concern, he added, "I would not worry, Healea. I saw them only from a distance, but it seemed mutual."

"It had better be," she said grimly, "because if he hurts her, I'll have his hide for a cloak."

"Ever the warrior," Cothion murmured appreciatively. "Tell me, my fierce one, can you spare a little time for your husband this morn? He is feeling a distinct inclination for some conjugal interaction."

Healea twisted around, reaching automatically for his fingers. "Tell my husband that I am of a mind to be wooed."

His fingers tightened around hers, letting her feel his strength. "Then come away from that scroll before it finds itself in tatters on the floor. All your hard work will be for naught."

She rose to her feet, her smile sultry as her gaze ran over him. To her, he was sublimely beautiful, tall and lean, with eyes of blue fire and an elegant self-restraint that masked a passion as fiery as her own. "Well, we cannot have that, can we?" she remarked.

With a low sound of amusement, he drew her against him, her back to his chest so that his arms encircled her with a steely force. His lips whispered over her hair until he found the tip of her ear and teased it with his tongue, over and over, matching the rhythm of his fingers as they stroked across her nipples with the adroitness of a skilled musician plucking the strings of a lute.

"Oh, Cothion," she moaned. Always she marveled at how instantly he could ignite an inferno within her. Utter weakness and need sizzled through her, sapping her capacity to do anything except shudder and whimper for more of his expert attentions. He was the only one who had ever done this to her, the only one who could melt her into a puddle on the floor. She adored it.

She was about to turn and take control, but he forestalled her by lifting her into his arms with a laugh. "No," he said, and carried her into their bedchamber, kicking the door shut with one heel as they passed. Lowering her to her feet, his practiced hands nimbly stripped her of her gown, kissing his way down her body until he reached the juncture of her thighs. He then urged her back onto the pillows so she could watch him remove his own clothing, which she did, admiring every inch of his exquisite male flesh as it was revealed to her view.

His knee pressed into the mattress and then he covered her, his weight pressing her down in a way that allowed him to flaunt his maleness with an authority that amused and delighted her. His stiffened arousal, hot with need, pressed against her as he devoured her with unerring awareness of her preferences and needs. His male scent intoxicated her, set her on fire, with a heat that spiraled her senses, radiating through her entire being . . .

So many long years of marriage, and still it felt like this, an erotic journey that transcended all else. The tempo varied with their mood, sometimes lush and slow with heady sensuality, sometimes frenzied and urgent with need, occasionally a power struggle or a game between them, but always, always with the delicious knowledge that they were one, joined forever by choice, lovers for all eternity. No matter what, that would always be, and she had never regretted it for an instant. Nor had he.

"So, my love," he whispered roughly, "is this the kind of wooing you had in mind?" With that question he entered her, a heavy thrust that filled her in such a way that she cried out in mindless ecstasy. Yes, yes, yes . . . but she could not say it aloud. All she could do was tremble and whimper . . . and give back as much as she took.

She knew it was the kind of answer he wanted.

x

Tarwë had been unable to find Nerwen alone these past few days. She knew not what had happened between Nerwen and Rúmil, but it was obvious things between them had somehow, miraculously, been set right. Tarwë could not guess how this had come about, but for some reason she did not understand, Nerwen's good fortune left her feeling more bereft than ever. Before, they had shared a common bond of suffering that had somehow comforted Tarwë, but now the other elleth glowed with happiness while Tarwë still suffered. However, it was not jealousy she felt; it was not in her temperament to begrudge a friend her share of happiness. She simply felt more alone.

Those feelings were bravely relegated to the hidden corners of her mind when she at last spied Nerwen alone later that day. She called out to Nerwen, who promptly altered her direction and joined Tarwë on the path that intersected hers. Nerwen had clearly just come from the communal pantry, for she was carrying a basket of vegetables, most likely to use for one of her delicious soups.

"Tarwë," Nerwen greeted her cheerfully, "I was just thinking about you."

"Because you have something to tell me?" Tarwë forced herself to say teasingly. "One moment it seems like there is no hope, and the next you and Rúmil are inseparable. What has happened, my dear?"

Nerwen glanced around to be sure they were alone. "It was incredible. I did not think it could happen." She went on to explain some of what had occurred, although it was clear she was omitting a few details from the story. "He loves me," she declared, her face glowing, "and has vowed to be with no one else, ever. I did not think that such happiness was possible!"

"That is wonderful," Tarwë said sincerely. "I saw you together and could hardly believe my eyes."

"But what of you? Has something happened?" Concern tinged Nerwen's voice, suggesting that Tarwë had not concealed her inner turmoil as well as she hoped.

Tarwë hesitated, trying to keep her face composed, but it was difficult. "Healea gave me some advice and I followed it. She told me to deny Lurien and last night . . . I did."

"Oh my," Nerwen breathed, her gaze perceptive. "He did not take it well?"

Tarwë drew a deep breath. "He accepted it. He did not like it, but he was not angry. But . . . it tore me apart."

"Perhaps in time it will grow easier," Nerwen offered.

That thought was small comfort to Tarwë, but she did not say it. Instead, she said, "I feel that something terrible is going to happen. I have a growing sense of dread that increases with the passing of each day. The tension ties me in knots." She pressed a hand to her abdomen. "I can feel it here. I can hardly sleep from the worry of it."

Nerwen shifted her basket from one hand to the other, her eyes fixed on Tarwë. "What do you think is going to happen?"

"I have no idea. I only feel that it has to do with Lurien. And it is not good."

"Have you told him?"

Tarwë looked down, feeling a small surge of shame in her failure. "I could not. He has been in no mood for confidences."

"What about Lady Galadriel? She might have an answer. Perhaps she would allow you to look in her mirror."

Tarwë shuddered. "My courage fails when I think of that. As difficult as this is, I would rather let the future unfold as it wills. I am a coward."

"You are not a coward," Nerwen insisted in a low voice. "I have always found you brave and true. Your love for Lurien is constant no matter what he does. I only pray that his eyes are opened as Rúmil's were. I pray for the happiness of you both."

"I pray for that too," Tarwë said. And bowed her head.

x

Since meeting Túre, Telrion had spent almost no time with either Elanor or Minden, but he had made a point to pay them each a visit this day to be sure neither of them were offended. He soon discovered that Minden had hardly noticed his absence; his cousin had found several lovely ellith who were delighted to keep him entertained for the duration of his visit, not to mention that Elladan and Elrohir had any number of friends who were more than happy to include Minden in their doings. As for Elanor, that meeting had gone differently. She had come out of the talan where Haldir lay resting and spoken with him. He had told her about Túre, and been rather taken aback by the coolness of her response.

"Túre?" she had said. "I am surprised, Tel."

"Why?" He had been conscious of a stab of disappointment that she was not as pleased for him as he hoped she would be. "Túre is sweet and kind and gentle and . . . " He stopped abruptly as he realized the reason. "She told me she had not been kind to you."

"No, she was not," Elanor answered, without elaborating. "But that is not the reason for my hesitation. It is just that she always seems so unhappy to me."

"She is not unhappy now. I know she regrets the way she treated you." When Elanor said nothing, he added, "I want you to know that I will be taking Túre back to Imladris with me." He could have sworn he saw Elanor wince, but then to his relief, her lips curved and she nodded.

"I am glad for you, truly I am." She touched his arm. "And I will remain here in Lórien with Haldir. He has asked me to stay with him. I have made my decision."

"I thought you might say that." He regarded her somberly, aware that he felt no great surprise, yet at the same time he knew a great sadness.

She had changed even more than he had realized, and yet she was the same elleth he had known for so long. He would always love her as a sister, and though he wished she had found love in Imladris so that they would always be together, he was resigned to what had happened. They spoke a little longer, and then he took his leave of her and headed off to see Túre, his heart already beating faster with the knowledge that any moment he would set eyes on her once more.

They came together at the spot they had agreed upon, near the footbridge where they had first seen each other. She had come straight from her kitchen duties, and had a smudge of something white on her cheek. She looked adorable.

She moved straight into his arms without hesitation, her smile so wide and lovely that everything else flew from Telrion's mind. He hugged her tightly, his world reduced for that instant to just the two of them. Nothing else existed, just he and Túre and the grass they stood on and the leaves beneath their feet. He caressed her hair, fingering the silken tresses, letting his gaze pass over the world around them as if to be sure that everything was as happy as he was. Then his fingers stilled in Túre's hair. A tall figure stood at the edge of this world, her blue stare slicing him with the icy power of a warrior's blade.

He let go of Túre and stepped back. "Good day," he said with impeccable politeness.

Túre looked over her shoulder to see whom he had addressed. "Healea!" Her surprise turned into a smile.

"I see you have a new acquaintance, Túre." When Túre did not immediately reply, the elleth suggested, with definite command in her voice, "Are you going to introduce us?"

There was something in her tone that made Telrion bristle.

"I would be pleased to do so," Túre said hastily, having found her composure. "Healea, this is Telrion of Imladris." Telrion bowed slightly. "Telrion, this is Healea. Telrion is a scribe for Lord Elrond. And he is far more than an acquaintance," she added, blushing rosily.

Healea acknowledged him with a measured nod of her head.

He watched Healea walk closer, rather fascinated by this strange elleth who was regarding him with cold suspicion, if not outright distaste. In appearance, she was as regal as Galadriel and as beautiful as the dawn, but she possessed an air of haughty purpose that put him on his guard.

"Telrion of Imladris," shedrawled, with chilly poise. "For a scribe, you are very quick-footed."

Telrion stiffened and squared his shoulders to his full height, which was not insignificant. "May I know what prompts your remark?" he answered with the most level tone he could muster. Had he had a sword, his hand would very likely have been on the hilt. He felt Túre's hand on his arm, as if to stay him.

Healea ignored his question. "I suppose," she mused, in a slightly mocking tone, "that you see love as a game and an amusement of the moment . . . being from a place of poets and star gazers."

Insulted, Telrion took a step forward. "Perhaps you would consider explaining to me, and to Túre, what prompts that comment."

Healea gave a wintry smile. "I was referring to the way you seem to have taken possession of Túre after such a brief acquaintance. You move too fast for an honorable elf."

"And who are you to speak these words? Are you her mother?" he said boldly. He heard Túre's quick intake of breath.

Healea's eyes flashed, a spectacular response to his question. "I am her friend, and thus her protector. I know her in a way you cannot. I am here to be sure no one takes advantage of her."

"I did not take advantage of her," he answered evenly. "As she herself will attest, I am sure."

"Telrion has been very kind to me, Healea," Túre put in, with a trace of reproach. "He is gentle, loving and considerate. I have been happy since I met him."

Healea's gaze softened as she looked at Túre. "Have you?" The question held layers of meaning that Telrion could only guess at.

"Yes." Once more Túre set her hand protectively on Telrion's arm, but her eyes remained locked on her friend. "Healea, let us speak privately of this later."

"Very well." Healea looked back at Telrion. "I will only say this. Túre is my dear friend, and if you do anything that causes her even the slightest grief, you will hear from me. I am perfectly capable of making sure you regret it."

Telrion lifted his chin. "Túre will come to no grief with me, you have my word. Quite the reverse. You may be here to defend her, but I am here to ensure her happiness."

Healea's stare drilled into him. "You give me your word on that?"

"I do."

"I will hold you to it," she warned, as though he might not be entirely trustworthy.

"I am unused to having my word questioned," was his haughty reply.

She gave him another one of her looks. "So be it."

Telrion bowed again, wondering what Healea would say when she discovered he meant to take Túre away from Lórien. Oddly enough, he was looking forward to delivering this piece of news.

x

Haldir lay looking at the pale cloth ceiling of the healing talan while Elanor read to him from a book of poetry. If they had been lying in the long grass somewhere, with the sun overhead and the wind whispering through the trees, he would have been perfectly content. Instead, he was frustrated. She had alleviated his discomfort this morning, but it had been too quick, and nowhere near as satisfying as he'd hoped. He wanted her fully, that was the problem, and despite her attempts to distract him, his thoughts kept creeping back in that direction. And it annoyed him that his control had slipped so much, for he was normally in complete command of his thoughts, not to mention his carnal yearnings. The indwaedh still weakened him, it seemed. If he was not battling the guilt that Galadriel had admonished him for feeling, then he was battling this other baser need. Either way, he knew no peace.

"Haldir, is something wrong? Are you thirsty?" Elanor was looking at him.

"I am well," he ground out.

"Still grouchy?" she asked caringly. "Is there something you would like me to fetch for you? What can I do to help?"

"Keep reading, Elanor. Your voice gives me pleasure."

Another hour passed before the first visitor arrived.

Healea had come to pay her respects to Haldir, but she also wished to point out that Elanor had scarcely moved from his side for a number of days. Some time on the archery field would be good for Elanor, she pointed out in her typically straightforward way.

Haldir immediately realized how selfish he had been not to think of this. "Healea is right, Elanor," he said at once. "You must go. I do not need you now."

"Are you certain?" Elanor regarded him closely. "You seem restless."

"Quite certain. You have neglected your archery too long."

Healea looked amused. "Come, Elanor, Haldir will survive without you for a while." As they left the talan, Haldir heard Healea say, "So, tell me about your friend Telrion. What manner of elf is he?"

Their voices faded as they walked away.

Haldir stared glumly at the ceiling, regretting his promise to stay in bed. He itched to get up and walk around, even with the knowledge that it was likely to hurt quite a lot. He was unused to this kind of immobility and that, combined with his other problem, made him feel unusually bad-tempered.

His second visitor arrived a short time later.

"Ah," Rúmil declared, sitting down in the chair beside the bed, "I thought this might be a good moment to see you. I noticed your protector heading for the archery field with Healea. I am surprised she was willing to leave your side." His eyes twinkled merrily, but Haldir only grunted. He was in no mood to be amused.

"I have something to tell you," Rúmil said casually.

Haldir arched a brow.

"You might show a little more interest. This is important."

"I am riveted. Tell me your news. You have a captive audience."

Rúmil grinned. "True enough. Remember when I told you about a certain elleth who would have naught to do with me?"

"I remember a lot of grousing, yes. We are talking about Nerwen?"

"How did you know?" Rúmil seemed very surprised.

"It was obvious," Haldir said in a pained voice. "Especially after the singing incident." He stared up at the ceiling, recalling the appalling song his brother had shouted to all of Lórien.

"Ah yes." Rúmil smiled ruefully. "Well, everything is perfect now. Nerwen and I are in love."

"Oh?" Haldir knew he sounded skeptical.

"Do you doubt me? Do you think me incapable of falling in love?"

"Not exactly," Haldir said diplomatically. "Are you saying this is serious?"

"I am saying it is eternal," Rúmil told him. "I have vowed to take no other lover. I love her and only her. I hope to bind myself to her, though I have not asked her yet."

Hearing this, and looking into his brother's clear blue eyes, Haldir knew a moment of genuine shock. It was obvious Rúmil meant what he said, and for some reason this awoke in Haldir a strange and aching melancholy. Memories flooded him, some of them bittersweet, but others filled with remembered joy deriving from a time when his entire family had been together. "First Orophin and now you," he said finally. "Things are changing. I wish our parents were here to see it."

Rúmil acknowledged this with a deep sigh. "Well, they will know eventually. Someday the sea will call us home and we will meet again."

They were both silent for a time, reflecting on the many years that were likely to pass before they sailed to the West. Then Haldir said, "Rúmil, I want you to do me a favor."

"What is it?"

Haldir first explained his problem.

Rúmil smirked. "Such suffering! But why tell me? Speak to Elanor."

Resisting the urge to cuff his brother, Haldir detailed the favor he needed.

Rúmil's grin broadened. "Tonight?"

"Tomorrow," Haldir said regretfully. "I grow stronger each day."

"Well, I suppose it is the least I can do considering how helpful you were when I came to you with my problem." The word 'helpful' was spoken in a sarcastic tone.

"What did I say?" Haldir said uneasily.

"You told me to court her," Rúmil informed him succinctly.

Haldir relaxed. "Good advice. So that is what you did?"

"In a manner of speaking. I threw Nerwen over my shoulder and carried her off to my talan."

"That worked?" Haldir was astonished.

Rúmil grew suddenly evasive. "It was rather more involved than that. You do not want the details."

"No, I do not," Haldir agreed. "I suppose you are saying my advice was not helpful."

Rúmil laughed. "No, it was not. But I managed."

Haldir tried to look remorseful.

"Never fear, I will help you," Rúmil said kindly, "because I love you, brother. I do not mention it very often, but I do." He rose to his feet. "Nerwen awaits me so I will go now. I will return tomorrow."

Left alone, Haldir decided that his mood had very much improved.

x

Lurien paced the floor of his talan, unable to rest even now, long after his guard duty had ended. He had not gone back to Tarwë, although a part of him yearned to do so. But no, he had something important to do and it must be done tonight. He should not have delayed this long; time was running out.

Leaving his home, he chose a circuitous route through the pathways of the city. He stayed in the shadows, stealthily avoiding all the places where he knew the night Sentinels stood guard. He passed no one on the way, for he had waited until the darkest hour of the night to conduct his business.

When he reached Haldir's home he paused outside, listening carefully to assure himself that Elanor had not decided to return. As expected, he heard nothing from within. Devoted little Elanor remained in the healing talan with Haldir, probably holding his hand while he slept, Lurien thought with a sneer.

He slipped inside and looked around, his sensitive ears attuned for the slightest sound, but she was not here; no one was. He had picked his moment well.

It felt odd to be here, in the home of his enemy, and for a moment he stood still, noting the various emotions that tumbled through him along with a jarring sense of unreality. In his mind he could almost hear Tarwë's voice telling him it was not too late to turn back. Frowning, he shook off this belated attack of conscience and began to assess his surroundings in order to determine where she might have put the letters.

Despite the dark, he could clearly see that they had not been left in sight, so he began to poke around the room and within minutes found them tucked within a cabinet set beneath one of the windows. His muscles taut with anticipation, he drew them out and unfolded them, using the faint light of the moon to see. A slow smile grew on his face as he read.

The letter from the mother told him some of what had transpired in Imladris, but the one from the sister was the real jewel. The sister was clearly a silly little fool, he thought with contempt. Elanor, on the other hand, was no fool, and Lurien was conscious of a stab of admiration for her tactics. The letter contained enough information to suggest what had happened, and it was absolutely incredible and quite delicious. Somehow she had given a sleeping draught to Haldir and then tied him up, something Lurien could never have imagined any elleth would dare do to the mighty Marchwarden. How entertaining! Little Elanor had bested and humiliated Haldir, something that Lurien himself had not yet managed to do. And how Haldir must have hated it.

He would have to compliment her when the time came.

- - -

To be continued . . .


	30. Chapter Thirty

Thank you very, very much to our reviewers. We will TRULY try to write the next chapter right away! Sorry for the long wait. We hope you enjoy this chapter, and we love getting your feedback! Hugs, J&F

xxx

**Chapter Thirty**

True to his promise, Haldir continued to rest the next day, albeit with a meekness that was both uncharacteristic and suspicious. Elanor was so attuned to him that she could not help wondering about it as well as the odd glint she occasionally saw in his eyes when he looked at her. Still, she was so pleased by his unusually docile behavior that she decided not to question it, and instead busied herself with some mending, making idle comments from time to time while Haldir gazed toward the open door at the softly rustling leaves outside the talan.

This continued until Elrond paid his usual mid-morning visit. The Lord of Imladris examined Haldir, changed the dressings on his shoulder wounds and then departed again, leaving the Haldir and Elanor alone in a silence charged with inexplicable tension.

Elanor studied Haldir's face, noting that he appeared far less weary and bored than he had the day before, or even an hour ago. Pondering this, she could think of nothing to account for the subtle and mysterious shift in his mood, for he was still lying peacefully under the blanket where he belonged and nothing had occurred between them . . . that she knew about.

"What is it?" she finally blurted. "Haldir, why are you looking at me like that?"

His lips quirked into a faint, bland smile. "How am I looking at you, Elanor?"

"As though you know something I do not," she said tartly. She set aside her mending and gazed at him with suspicion.

"That is an absurd statement. I know a great many things that you do not. But I fail to see how any of them could be pertinent to the moment."

She folded her arms under her bosom. "You are toying with me, Haldir. What are you thinking? Do you have tidings of which I am unaware?"

His lips twitched. "No tidings. Guess again."

Elanor watched his face, searching for hints of an explanation. "I can think of nothing else," she said, a shade grumpily. As Haldir's smile grew, she could feel the shimmering hum of the indwaedh pulsing within her, its steady cadence a constant reminder of him on a level that no words could ever have describe.

"Would it help if I told you that I always pay my debts?"

"Your debts?" she said blankly.

"Shut the door, Elanor. And lock it."

Her eyes widened in sudden comprehension. "Haldir, don't be absurd."

"Please do as I ask," he said patiently.

"You are not ready for such things yet. You are not healed enough." She tried to keep her eyes on his face, but the cock of his eyebrow, along with his heated masculine appraisal, was enough to make her blush. "Unless you just want me to touch you as I did yesterday?" she added, trying to keep her voice steady.

"No, that is not what I want. I want you to lock the door. And then I want you to take your gown off . . . slowly, while I watch. After that . . . you will see what I have in mind."

The command—for that was what it was--brought a rush of heat surging through her body, a shudder of desire she knew she failed to hide from his knowing eyes. Irked and aroused, she said, "I will not! Someone might come, Haldir! What if Lord Elrond returns, or Lady Galadriel, or that healer, Hírion?" The mere thought appalled her.

"No one will come." He was maddeningly composed.

"You do not know that!" Her fingers twisted together, her apprehension mixed with a growing ache deep inside her.

"On the contrary, I do know it. Elanor, walk over and look outside before you close the door and lock it. What do you see?"

Perplexed, Elanor did as she was told, and when she peered outside, she saw to her astonishment that at the end of the walkway leading to the nearest set of steps lounged . . . Rúmil. What made it so extraordinary was that Haldir's brother appeared to have selected that highly curious location to sit down and read a book. His body completely blocked the approach to the healing talan.

Elanor swung around. "Haldir, what is Rúmil doing there?"

"He's guarding our privacy, sweetling. Satisfied? No one will interrupt us."

"You arranged this?" she asked in slight shock.

"I did." Haldir's gaze drifted over her, a provocative tilt to his mouth. "I want you, Elanor. Now please take off your dress. I want to watch you unveil yourself to my eyes . . . slowly."

Elanor shook her head. "This is not a good idea. You cannot seriously believe that Rúmil would forbid Lady Galadriel to pass."

"You fail to give my brother credit. It would not be a question of forbidding her. He would know what to say. He has boundless creativity."

"But she would guess," she pointed out, blushing at the thought.

"She might," he acknowledged. "But if she did, she would not intrude upon us. Have faith, Elanor. Do you think I seek an interruption? I have thought this through, and I trust my brother." His gaze traveled over her once more, undressing her with his eyes.

She bit her lip. "You are sure of this?"

"You once said you trusted me."

"I do. It is just that . . ." She paused, thinking it over. "Yes, of course I trust you." She closed the door and pushed the privacy latch into place. "I trust you," she repeated. Her eyes locked with his, she reached around and began to undo the back lacing on her gown.

Once it was loose, she self-consciously hesitated, but an imperious gesture from Haldir told her to move closer to the bed. "Ease it off your shoulders and let it slide down," he instructed, his voice taking on a caressing huskiness. "Very slowly . . . that's it. You are so beautiful, Elanor. Let it fall gradually, just . . . like . . . that . . . yes."

As the silky fabric slipped past her breasts, she felt her nipples tingle and harden into stiff peaks. She glanced quickly toward the door and then back at Haldir, whose silver gaze gleamed with blatant male appreciation. And, suddenly, Elanor felt very sensual. With newfound daring, she pushed the gown with the palms of her hands so it slithered down her hips, watching the way Haldir's nostrils flared and his chest moved with his quickened breathing. Then he caught side of her pantelettes.

She froze, expecting disapproval, but all he said was, "They are pretty, Elanor. Take them off. Slowly."

She did so, her heart fluttering wildly. When she stood naked before him, he had new commands, ones that flustered her more than she might have predicted given the number of times they had already made love. The first part was simple enough, to remove the blanket that covered him, and to straddle his hips while sitting back on his thighs. But he wanted to watch her to touch her own breasts.

"Do not be shy, Elanor. Just caress them the way I do," he instructed, his black velvet voice sending a responsive shudder through her body. "Lift them and stroke them, play with those beautiful nipples. Explore your body like you just discovered it. Like I do when I touch you."

Elanor followed his directions, part of her loving it and part of her feeling ridiculously self-conscious. Slowly, a heady languor stole over her, relaxing her to the point where she could take pleasure in what was so obviously pleasurable for him. Under his heated gaze, she let her palms drift sensuously over her breasts, stomach and hips. Boldly, she even let one hand slide down between her legs so that it grazed the secret place that only he had seen.

"Yes, do that again," he murmured. "Touch yourself there, Elanor."

This was harder to do with him watching, but she was soon enthralled by the intimacy of it. Haldir's murmured encouragements and obvious delight loosened her inhibitions so that she was soon as aroused as he was. And aroused he was, very evidently so.

"Bend down and kiss me," he whispered, "then let me taste your breasts."

Despite his lying on his back, Elanor soon realized that Haldir was quite able to participate in an assortment of delicious ways, including one that slightly shocked her until she became lost in the pleasure of it. How much time passed she had no idea, but eventually he directed her to ease herself down onto him, to take him between her thighs until he was buried deep inside her. It was the first time she had done this without his assistance, but it was not difficult since she was very ready for him. When he was fully seated, she glanced at him with a question in her eyes.

"You must take charge," he said, his voice thick and urgent with need. "Ease yourself up and down my length. Carefully, my love."

Elanor nodded, understanding that she must not jostle his injured ribs. However, despite her best efforts to be gentle, Haldir's breath hissed in sharply almost at once. Alarmed, she stilled her movements, waiting and watching anxiously while he drew several deep and frustrated breaths.

"Try rocking instead," he said through gritted teeth. "Shift your weight from side to side, very gently. Yes, like that . . . better . . . much better, Elanor . . . just like that . . ."

Inhaling deeply, he arched his neck and shut his eyes, but after the first few moments he recalled himself and reached out with his left hand to find her pleasure spot. Deftly, he stroked her in rhythm with the rocking motion, tending to her pleasure while he watched her face, every shift of his expert fingers an effort to offer her delight. The pleasure was incredible, burning through her with an intensity greater than she had ever known. It throbbed through her with a powerful tempo, strumming her nerve endings, her body aching with desire for more and more and more of his touch . . . .

x

Outside the talan, Rúmil sat perusing the slim book he had borrowed from Lord Celeborn's library. The section that interested him was on marriage customs of the Eldar, a topic he had deliberately ignored as much as possible for as long as possible. It was not information he had ever thought he would need.

After reviewing the basics, he realized he needed a ring for Nerwen. He studied some sample illustrations, but none of them suited him. He would have to come up with his own design. Aware that he was about to be interrupted, he closed the book, wondering with a small grin how long the door to the healing talan would remain closed. Not too long, he suspected. Haldir had sounded quite anxious when they had spoken the day before.

"Ahem," said a censorious voice.

Rúmil glanced over his shoulder and saw the well-known silver robes of one of Lórien's foremost and, in Rúmil's opinion, most annoying healers. "Yes?"

"I would like to pass," Hírion informed him pointedly, "if you would be so good as to move out of the way."

"I regret to say that is not possible right now." Rúmil lifted his leg and propped it higher against the rail to make passage even more difficult.

"Do not be absurd. Move aside at once, if you please."

"But I do not please," Rúmil remarked.

One pale brow arched. "May I ask why?"

"Because my brother is occupied."

"Occupied?" The healer's voice was sharp. "What is he occupied with?"

"With his rest," Rúmil said smoothly.

"I will not disturb him. I only wish to observe him."

Rúmil rose to his feet and faced the healer. "I cannot allow it."

"And why not?" Hírion's complexion was turning pink with annoyance.

"Because it is not a good time for you to visit."

"I will be the judge of that!" Hírion snapped. "Now step aside."

"No." Rúmil crossed his arms over his chest.

"Young warden, I am losing patience!"

"You are not the only one!" Rúmil remarked with a roll of his eyes. "Come back later, Hírion. My brother's door is closed to you and I am guarding it."

Hírion made an inarticulate sputter and glared. Rúmil smiled sweetly at him. For a long moment neither of them moved, and then the healer spun on his heel and huffed off, very much to Rúmil's relief.

When the healer was out of sight, Rúmil cast a quick look toward the talan's closed door. "Hurry up you two," he muttered beneath his breath. He settled down once more with his book and tried to suppress a small grin.

x

When Elanor's release ripped through her, its power and force took her completely by surprise. Shuddering with undulations of indescribable sensations, she barely prevented herself from collapsing flat onto Haldir's injured ribs. She was acutely aware that his release had also occurred and that he was gasping and shuddering, his chest heaving as though he were on the brink of drowning.

"Elanor . . . by the Valar, that was . . . it must be the indwaedh that . . " He seemed unable to say more, for shudders were still pulsing through his body. Oddly, she could feel them almost as though they were her own, as though his climax had somehow mingled with hers.

"The indwaedh?" Still dazed, she barely managed to gasp the words.

Haldir reached for her hand, holding it while they stared at each other with pounding hearts. Eventually, he was able to say, in nearly his normal voice, "I felt my own pleasure and yours too. It was . . . the unfamiliar combined with the familiar. Very pleasurable and . . . most amazing."

"Yes, I felt yours too. It is as you say." She gave him a shy grin and clenched her thighs against the sides of his hips, savoring the feel of him beneath and inside her.

"The indwaedh holds strange powers." After a long pause, he added, "Perhaps this is a taste of what it feels like to bound to another in marriage."

Elanor searched his face, wondering if he meant to say more on this subject, but he did not, and she dared not. "I should dress," she murmured. "And tidy you up."

Quietly, she went about that task while he lay there, watching her with lazy enjoyment. When she drew the blanket over him, he said, "When you open the door, Rúmil will know to go away. I feel a great deal better now, by the way. All I need is a drink."

She reached for his cup. "I am glad I could be of assistance," she said, a bit teasingly. "Does milord desire anything else from his dutiful ward?"

Haldir's eyes held an affectionate gleam. "Not at the moment, Elanor. But I will let my dutiful ward know if anything comes to mind . . . which it very well may."

x

The following day, Haldir stood for the first time on his own while Elanor stood by, watching closely while Hírion and his assistant helped Haldir into a loose robe. As annoying as she found Hírion and his crony, she had to admit they were being gentle and caring with their patient. Leaving the plants for now, she gathered up a selection of personal items and followed Haldir, who was finally leaving the healing talan flanked by the two Lórien healers.

Elrond was waiting outside. "Your guardian is faring well," he said to her. "He has no need of me now, though his need for you remains."

"You think he needs me, my lord?"

"As he needs no other." Elrond's mouth curved upward. "I do believe you have tamed him."

Elanor smiled. "Nay, my lord, that cannot be. He is still very much himself."

Elrond inclined his head in acknowledgement. "Then let us say instead that your love for him has smoothed his rougher edges." His eyes held humor and discernment. "For you do love him, do you not?"

"I do, my lord." Elanor looked down self-consciously, but Elrond lifted her chin with his hand.

"I am well pleased," he said quietly. "He is a fine ellon, worthy of your love." He paused, studying her with a faint smile. "Are you vexed with Telrion?"

Surprised by the question, Elanor considered this briefly. "Only surprised, my lord. Not vexed."

"You are more than surprised, Elanor. I sense that you are displeased, but you ought not to be. Recollect that not every flower blooms at the same time. Each has its season, a right and perfect moment to unfurl. The elleth, Túre, is a rare flower. Her many thorns have nearly hidden her fragile beauty, but Telrion is discerning enough to see past them." He paused again. "I have given him permission to take her with him when we leave."

"And when is that?" Elanor asked him, his voice subdued. Truthfully, the idea of losing Telrion troubled her far more than the idea of his loving Túre.

Elrond appeared to reflect on this. "I feel no pressing urge to leave. My sons are enjoying the visit with their mother's parents, so I will linger for a while. When I go, perhaps you will have some letters for me to take along."

"Indeed I will, my lord. Thank you." With a small bow, Elanor walked away, trying not to think of the letters that she still must write . . . or the ones she would likely receive back in response to what she would say.

x

As the days slid by, Haldir's broken bones and damaged shoulder muscles began to show considerable improvement. His strength increased, as did his shaken confidence, and he knew peace within himself once more.

The meeting with his wardens had gone far better than he'd expected. Despite what Rúmil and Orophin and even Galadriel had told him, Haldir had been braced for the worst. In his heart, he'd believed that his mistake with the Orcs would cost him a loss of respect among his people, and most especially among the wardens of Lothlórien for whom he had long been an example and a leader. The condemnation would not have been in their words or even their faces, but in their eyes. He would have seen it if it had been there. He would have known.

With Elanor's permission, he had told them about the indwaedh, explaining how its magical effects had invaded his mind and distracted him, although he had naturally not explained the specifics of what had been on his mind. But he had apologized for his lack of good judgment, explained that he would soon be himself again, and pledged to them that he would not resume his duties unless and until he was fit to lead them once more.

He'd been met with unmatched, unified support and more understanding and sympathy that he would ever have anticipated. Their faith in him was undiminished.

And even though he had spoken to them in a group, they had been coming to him individually for days now, one by one, as if on some secret schedule, so that his afternoons and evenings had been filled with conversations he had never thought to have. In simple language abounding with respectful sincerity, each warden made it clear that he was still loyal to Haldir and confident in his ability to lead. The ones who were off duty in Caras Galadhon had come first, but with each rotation in guard duty, more and more of them had come. He was profoundly touched.

As each day passed, he found he was better able to stay focused on something besides Elanor. Toward the end of the fourth week he had started to wield his bow once more, to challenge his shoulder and arm to see how far he had come in his healing. All things considered, he had done well, although the draw of the bowstring sorely tested his muscles, and his shoulders ached afterward. He had much to do to regain his former level of fitness, but he would do it.

The wondrous effects of the indwaedh continued to astound him. He understood now that it was just as Elrond predicted--he could tuck away the jewel's magical effects in a private corner of his mind, as though it existed behind a door that he could open and shut with but a flicker of his will.

Needless to say, he left the door in his mind wide open when he was making love to Elanor, with staggering consequences. It was as though the indwaedh recognized his deepest feelings for her, and in some way transmuted them into an enhanced sexual experience for each of them. The delights of physical love were still new to Elanor, and although she had pleased him very well right from the start, he had noticed that she could now read him better, seeming to know without being told what would most enhance his pleasure at any given moment.

It was the same for him. When they made love, he was newly aware of her feelings-–both physical and emotional-–in a way that he had never been before. When she felt pleasure, he not only knew about it, he felt it along with his own, as well as the intense love she bore for him, which came at him in inexplicable waves, suffusing his body in rapture. Their blended climaxes were so intense that he sometimes wondered if he would survive to experience another one.

Content with the knowledge that he had many days or even weeks before he must leave her to resume his duties, he made love to her as often as possible, enjoying his days of recovery far more than he would ever have expected.

It just seemed like the right thing to do.

x

Elanor had resumed work in Galadriel's garden now that Haldir had recommenced archery practice. She was at peace working among the flowers, the damp earth smell rising up to mingle with the floral scents. Or at least she had been at peace until today. Today Haldir meant to try his hand at swordplay, which he'd admitted was more demanding on his arm and shoulder than archery. This concerned her, although he said he was ready and told her not to worry. She could come and watch if she liked, he had said, and kissed her on the mouth. It was an invitation she decided to accept, simply to assure herself that all was well.

When she arrived at the practice grounds, she found Rúmil standing off to the side, his arms folded over his chest while he watched two elves she did not know spar with each other. She crossed over to Rúmil, shading her eyes while she searched for Haldir. She found him a moment later, just entering the grounds in Orophin's company. He sent her an almost imperceptible nod, letting her know that he was aware of her presence.

"He will fight with Orophin?" she asked Rúmil.

"Yes, but do not worry. They will be careful."

"What makes you think I am worried?" She'd been trying so hard to sound calm, with only a casual interest in the day's doings.

Rúmil emitted a soft laugh. "Because I know you, Elanor. I have seen you fuss over my brother these past weeks, spoiling and pampering him long after he was out of all danger. You have undone what Orophin and I spent centuries creating, and that was a certain amount of humility in our dear eldest brother. There will be no living with him now, you know." His twinkling eyes belied his critical words, making her laugh.

"Everyone should have one person in their lives to spoil them," she replied, with a meaningful nudge on his arm. "Do you not have Nerwen?"

"Ah, but she does not spoil me," he said good-naturedly.

"No?" Elanor smiled widely. "That is not what I hear."

Rúmil put his arm around her shoulders, as though he was about to tell her a great secret. "Pay no heed to what Nerwen tells you. Any pampering I get from her is richly deserved. I was woefully ignored until recently, and she wishes to atone. What can I do but allow it?"

Elanor laughed, and was about to tease him further when she saw that Orophin and Haldir had begun to spar. She fell silent, watched in spellbound anxiousness as Haldir forced himself nearly beyond his limits, or so it seemed to her. She was grateful that Rúmil patiently explained what they were trying to achieve while reassuring her that Haldir was not being harmed. Orophin was simply taking Haldir through a series of exercises that grew progressively more intricate. They would know when to stop.

"Do you think my being here distracts him?" she asked at one point, when she saw Haldir pause and hold up his hand to Orophin, indicating his need for a breather.

Rúmil shook his head. "He says he has learned to block out the effects of the jewel. Without its influence, Haldir's capacity to focus is absolute." He paused, his eyes on his brothers, who stood close together, their voices quiet. "As countless of our enemies have learned," he added softly.

Elanor could not repress a shiver at those last words.

Haldir shortly ended the session, sheathing his sword with a final shake of his head, as though he were annoyed with himself. She slipped away down the path, intending to return to the garden, but Haldir soon caught up with her. "Running away?" he teased as his arm slid around her waist.

"Not at all." She smiled up at him. "I merely return to my work in the garden."

She caught the sweet tang of his perspiration as he drew her against him and kissed her lips. "The garden can wait," he murmured. "My need for you is greater. My muscles ache. I would like you to soothe them with some hot oil." His roaming hands suggested he had more than that in mind.

Elanor rested her palms on his chest, desire for him already coursing through her like a strong current. "Did I not tend to your needs only a few hours ago?" Her breathless voice betrayed her reaction.

"True," he said lazily. "As I tended yours. Need I remind you what you said at the time?"

"What did I say?"

Haldir whispered in her ear.

"Oh!" She could feel herself turning bright red. "Now I am embarrassed."

"Do not be." He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it. "Not with me, Elanor. Never with me." The tenderness in his voice brought moisture to her eyes.

Hand in hand, they walked back to the talan, the low hum of the indwaedh throbbing between them.

x

Orophin studied his small dining table, set for six. It would be crowded, but those who were most significant would be here on this most important of all nights.

Doria came up behind him and slipped her arms around his waist. "No last minute doubts?" she whispered, her mouth near his ear.

He turned and drew her against him, inhaling the fragrant scent of her hair with a joy that bordered on ecstasy. "You know the answer to that, my love." With reverence, he pressed his lips to her brow, aware that he felt no nervousness at all. He only felt happy, the kind of happiness that came when everything was completely as it ought to be. Outside of Lórien there was danger and evil, but none of that existed in the world he and Doria had created for themselves. Their world was perfect.

Haldir and Elanor soon arrived, followed by Rúmil and Nerwen. Orophin bustled about, setting out the evening meal he and Doria had prepared while Doria served wine to their guests. General conversation and teasing prevailed while they ate, and then Orophin poured them all another glass of wine. This wine was from a different bottle, one he had held in reserve for many, many years for just such an occasion, and its quality was very fine.

Orophin's eyes locked with Doria's, and then he rose to his feet. "I have an announcement to make. I am pleased to share with you the happiest of all possible tidings." He looked at his brothers. Haldir's expression was calm and inscrutable, while Rúmil's was quizzical and rather expectant. Elanor and Nerwen were also looking at him.

"Long have Doria and I loved each other," he continued, "and although that love was not acknowledged until recently, our love is strong and true. We have examined our hearts and have made our decision." He straightened his posture, standing proud and tall. "We have decided to marry."

Smiles lit all the faces around their table, but as the eldest Haldir was first to speak. "I offer you both my heartfelt blessing," he said calmly, with a solemnity born of kinship and deep feeling. "May the sun always shine upon your union."

"Though I am younger than you, Orophin, I also offer you both my blessing," Rúmil said with approval. "May your hearts be filled with Anor's light."

Elanor and Nerwen added similar sentiments, and then they all drank to the couple's future happiness.

"None of you seem very surprised," Doria commented a short time later. Everyone laughed, which made Doria blush and give them one of her big, sunny smiles.

"We are only surprised you waited so long," Rúmil joked amid the laughter

Then Haldir set down his goblet. "Have you informed Lurien?"

Conversation died at once, as though everyone in the room had forgotten that he was Doria's brother. In fact he was the only family she had residing in Lothlórien since their parents had left for the Undying Lands more than one hundred years before.

"No, not yet," Orophin admitted in a reserved voice.

"He should have been invited tonight," Haldir pointed out, rather sternly.

Doria reached across the table to touch Haldir's arm. "He would not have come," she told him in a soft voice. "In any case, he is on duty right now. Orophin and I plan to talk to him later tonight." She lifted her chin. "I do not need his permission, Haldir."

Haldir silently acknowledged her statement with a bow of his head.

Orophin shifted uneasily. "The union of our families will take place with or without Lurien's approval. And soon. We would like to have a small betrothal ceremony in a few days time. After that, we will wed."

"You are not going to wait a year?" Rúmil asked.

"We would rather not. After all, we have already known each other for so long." Orophin's tone was defensive.

"It is conventional to wait at least a year," Rúmil reminded him, to Orophin's slight annoyance.

"I am perfectly aware of the marriage customs of our people," Orophin replied with dignity, "although I must say I am surprised that you are." He meant to sound witty, since Rúmil had always claimed he would never marry, but somehow it did not come out sounding that way.

Rúmil set down his glass. "Of course I am. Why should I not be?"

"Because—"

"Orophin," Doria cut in diplomatically, "may I make a toast?"

"Of course," Orophin said at once, grateful for her interruption. He cast an apologetic look at Rúmil, who accepted it with a nod.

With grace, Doria rose, looking radiantly lovely in a filmy blue gown decorated with ivory lace. "My love, I would like us all to drink to your brother's health. To Haldir, our Marchwarden. May your recovery be complete and may your health be everlasting." She lifted her glass, smiling so sweetly that Orophin's heart swelled with happiness and wonder at his own good fortune.

Yet his thoughts drifted as they drank, first to Haldir, and then again to himself and Doria, and then to all of Lórien's wardens, and then to Lurien and all the Sentinels. Yet as happy as he felt, a small black cloud hung over Orophin. Haldir was correct. Doria's brother should have been invited. But how could they have done so? And would the tension between their families ever be resolved?

x

Lurien walked slowly back to his talan, the rock of his depression weighing heavily upon him. _Soon,_ he promised himself as he moved like a ghost along the walkways. Very soon it would be over and then the burden would lift. That it was a self-inflicted burden was no comfort to him at all. At this point he had no choice; the obsession had taken hold of him, sinking its claws into his soul until it writhed. Sometimes he imagined that Tarwë was all that kept him from losing his way in the darkness. It was a fanciful thought, wrought from some last desperate hope that in the end, all would be well. But he did not really believe it. The pain of that thought ran like icy poison through his blood.

When he reached his talan, he found his sister and Orophin waiting outside. He greeted them tersely, casting Orophin a sour look.

"May we come in?" Doria studied him with that anxious look she so frequently wore. "We have something to tell you, brother."

Lurien's gaze flicked from her to Orophin, whose expression told him nothing. "If you wish," he said with outward indifference.

He listened to their words without expression, receiving the news of their intent to wed with a dispassion that was largely genuine. He did not care for Orophin, but the ellon was not the object of his hate. He knew that his sister would do as she willed, and she had every right to do so. "I suppose you want my blessing," he said wearily.

"Yes, I would," Doria answered, laying her hand on his sleeve. Her blue eyes pleaded with him. "I would like that very much."

Lurien forced a small smile. "Then you have it." Inside, he seethed, but a huge part of him was also detached; his apathy seemed to be growing.

"And you will attend our betrothal ceremony?"

"Yes, I will attend."

Doria hugged him while Orophin looked on expressionlessly. Haldir's brother was adept at hiding his thoughts, but Lurien knew he must be loathing the situation. However, all the proper words were spoken before the couple departed, leaving Lurien alone with his thoughts.

_Soon,_ he thought. But not too soon. Haldir must make a full recovery before he made his move. No one must ever say the fight had not been fair.

x

A week after the betrothal ceremony, Elanor was again working alone in the garden. She was weeding around a bed of herbs, setting aside a few plants for relocation to other areas while her thoughts dwelled on Haldir. Haldir's bones were completely healed now, and he had been training hard every day. Even she could see his progress when she chose to watch him. His reflexes again seemed lightning fast, his strength nearly fully restored. According to Rúmil, Haldir was back to his former state of fitness. Almost but not quite, which meant that he would not return to his border duties yet. And that meant she had him to herself for just a little longer.

Only now did she realize how reluctant she was to let him go. A part of her was afraid for him in a way that she had never been before. Yet she would have to hide that fear, squelch it as best she could. Not that it was likely she would be able to hide it from him. These days Haldir always seemed to know what she was feeling, probably because of the indwaedh. If she did not wear it . . . but at this point she couldn't even imagine taking it off. To go back to the way things were before would be intolerable.

Her thoughts drifted back to Orophin and Doria's betrothal ceremony. It had been a small gathering, with only Haldir, Rúmil, Nerwen, Lurien and herself in attendance, along with Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel. Orophin and Doria had exchanged silver rings, and announced that their marriage would indeed take place one year hence. As eager as they were to marry, they had decided to follow convention in this matter. And after all, what was a year?

The question hovered in Elanor's head. One year . . . such a tiny span of time. It was the length of time she had agreed to serve Haldir as his ward, and once she had deemed it an eternity. Now that year was nearly over. No longer did she yearn for it to end, but neither did she dread its end, for she knew Haldir wished her to stay on with him. And yet this year held its own significance, the most significant in her entire life. It was the year she had finally grown up.

She stared at a tiny green herb near her hand. A week ago it had been smaller than her thumbnail; now it was as high as her finger. Despite its fragility, despite the nearby plants who towered over it, it had persevered. She touched it gently, whispering love words that would help to nurture it. She could feel the plant respond . . . and then she felt a presence behind her.

"Good morning, Elanor," said a familiar female voice.

Elanor turned and looked up. "Good morning, Túre." Out of respect for Telrion, she tried to make her tone friendly, but inwardly she was braced for attack. In all these weeks this was the first time Túre had approached her without Telrion at her side. What was her motive?

"May I sit? I would like to speak with you." The request seemed humbly made.

"Certainly." Elanor waited with slight suspicion while the other elleth lowered herself to the grass and arranged her skirt.

Túre's blue eyes met hers. "I have come to apologize to you, Elanor, and to ask your forgiveness for the way I treated you in the past. This is not an easy thing for me to do, but I am asking most sincerely."

"Of course I forgive you," Elanor said at once. Although she really did mean it, she could not help wondering why the apology was being offered, and if it was done to please Telrion. But Túre's next words dismissed the thought.

"I am ashamed of my behavior," Túre confessed with a bowed head. "You never did anything to harm me and yet I tried to do harm to you. It was wrong of me. I was jealous of you, you see."

"May I ask why?" Elanor said gently.

She listened with growing amazement as Túre falteringly revealed her heartbreaking story. Few details were included, but it was not difficult for Elanor to fill in the gaps. Apparently Iridor's death had nearly broken Túre's heart, and the only way she had survived had been to harden herself against further hurt. Yet this same hardening had also shut out joy and hope and inner peace, and had turned her into a rather disagreeable and unlikable elleth . . . until Telrion had come along and seen through her prickles and barriers.

"But it is more than that," Túre added steadily. "I also had a dream, you see." As she told of the dream in a few broken sentences, Elanor felt compelled to slide an arm around her shoulders, and within moments Túre's head was on her shoulder. They stayed like this for a little while, enveloped in a quiet harmony that was as unexpected as it was healing.

At length, Elanor said quietly, "I do understand. And I am truly happy that you and Tel have found each other. I wish you both joy."

"Thank you, Elanor." Túre gave a little sigh and lifted her head. "That is more than I have any right to expect. I know you love Telrion, but so do I. And I promise you that I will do all in my power to keep him happy and safe."

"When will you leave Lórien?" Elanor asked curiously. "Have you heard anything?"

"No, and it is odd. Telrion says that Lord Elrond is waiting for something, but for what he does not know. Lord Elrond will not say."

"How odd," Elanor agreed. And dismissed it from her mind.

x

Galadriel stared at her mirror, silently willing it to show her more than it had. With all of her being she implored it to explain, to reveal, to clarify. But it ignored her pleas; the darkened waters remained calm, with no hint of the disturbing image of a moment before.

"Nothing?" Celeborn asked, the low timbre of his voice reverberating slightly in the enclosed glade.

Slowly, regretfully, she shook her head. "It was just as always. I saw you. I saw myself and another. One of our sentinels, though I know not which one. And I saw the trunk of a mallorn tree behind us."

"Could you distinguish anything about it?" asked Elrond. "Were there any features you would recognize?"

"I saw a small branch behind the sentinel. Its ends were divided, each with a single leaf."

"Nothing more?" Celeborn probed.

"Nothing more. But I will continue to come here each day. Perhaps in time the mirror will reveal more. It has done so in the past."

Elrond bowed his head. "May it be so. I will not leave until you have an answer."

Galadriel looked at him. "I know not when that will be." She glanced down into the serene water, but saw only her own face reflected there. All answers remained hidden . . . for now.

x

Days passed while Lurien waited and watched. He did not try to talk to Elanor; he had long since given that up, although he tracked her movements when he was free to do so. He knew where she was as much as possible, and he knew where Haldir was. And he bided his time.

He was numb to all feeling. Except for those moments when he was with Tarwë, he hardly felt alive. Tarwë would sit with him and hold his hand, but they seldom spoke. She had given up asking questions, for he would never answer. Why would he, when the answers would only cause her pain? But his resolve had only hardened.

And then, at last, the day arrived when he heard what he had been waiting for. Two of Haldir's wardens walked by, neither noticing him while they spoke softly of the vast improvement in the Marchwarden's health and fighting skills.

"He might never have been wounded," said one of them. "I can see no sign of it."

"He's as strong as he ever was," the second warden agreed in a thankful tone. "We will see him back at the Fences again any day now, mark my words."

The two elves continued to walk, passing out of Lurien's sight, but he paid them no more heed. His mind was alive with thoughts, his body taut and ready to take action. If Haldir's own wardens thought him fit to fight, then he was.

Excitement heated Lurien's blood, anticipation mixed with profound relief. The waiting was over; the time was upon him. Now all he had to do was choose the right and perfect moment to make his move.

x

Elanor busied herself with some cleaning, wondering if she had time for a bath before Haldir returned from sword practice. Not that it mattered, except that they were planning another walk in the forest and she did not wish to delay it. He had other places to show her, beautiful places he wished to share. Other places where they could make love, he had teased her. She smiled at the thought and decided she would indeed take that bath.

Entering the sleeping chamber, she undid the back of her gown and slipped her arms from the sleeves, about to let it slide to her feet when she heard the talan's outside door open and close. Delighted that Haldir had returned so soon, she scampered joyfully into the front room, words of greeting on her lips . . . words that died the moment she saw who stood there.

She clutched her gown to her naked chest, staring in dismay.

"Good afternoon, Elanor." Lurien leaned against the door, a study in elegance made all the more lethal by his sleek masculine beauty. How odd it was that after all these months she should suddenly be so conscious of it.

"What are you doing here?" she said indignantly. "How dare you enter without permission!"

"I dare because I have something to say to you." His blue eyes flicked over her, taking in her bare shoulders before sliding downward. "My, my, you might almost have been expecting me. This is just too perfect for words."

His insolence sent fury surging through her. She would have liked to slap him, but instead she took a step backward, holding tight to her gown. "Please leave at once," she said coldly. "I have nothing to say to you."

"Oh, but I have a great deal to say to you, sweet Elanor." His mocking tone set her teeth on edge. "It concerns your own behavior."

"What are you talking about?" she demanded. She watched him move away from the door, taking a step forward and then another, closing in on her.

"I know what you did to Haldir. I know what crime earned you your punishment." He smiled. "Such a daring enterprise for such a youthful and innocent elleth. I really must compliment you, Elanor. The boldness of it quite takes my breath away."

Coldness stabbed at her heart. How could he possibly know? Had he read the letters? Had Elrond spoken of it to Lady Galadriel within Lurien's hearing? Or was he only guessing?

"You are talking nonsense," she said evenly.

"I am not and you know it. You gave Haldir a sleeping draught, and while he slept you bound him so he was at your mercy." He was watching her, his eyes speculative and shrewd. "Or perhaps you had your friends do it. Is that it, Elanor?" His smile grew, as though something in her face had betrayed the answer. "What a pitiful sight he must have made. The mighty Marchwarden of Lothlórien, tied and helpless, brought to his knees by an elleth! What happened next, Elanor? Or need I ask?"

His sly smirk was simply too much to bear. She took a swing at him, nearly losing her gown in the process, but she was not as fast as Healea and he caught her wrist, halting her before she could strike him. He held her close, his flawless face still and cold.

"Now, now," he murmured, "let us play nicely with each other." His gaze dipped down to the upward swell of her breasts, pushed upward by her own fist.

"Release me!" she hissed. "This instant, Lurien, or you will regret it more than you can imagine." She tried to shove away from him, but it was too difficult while holding onto her gown.

He gave a humorless little laugh. "I think not. I have waited a long time for this moment. I use no mind tricks, as you call them, so I break no oath." Something dark and brooding entered his face. "Perhaps I will let you go if you do as I wish."

"What do you want?" she demanded, arching away from him in revulsion. If it was what she thought he wanted, she knew she could not do it. Kissing him was one thing, but any more than that was too repugnant to contemplate.

"I want you to return to Imladris. I want you to go with Lord Elrond when he leaves."

"What?" she gasped.

"If you fail to agree," he said ruthlessly, "I will tell all of Lórien how you humiliated Haldir. I will say that you stripped him naked and toyed with him, and that is why Elrond punished you as he did. Is that what you want Haldir's people to know? That he was bested by a naïve little fool, a nobody, with no experience of anything?"

He could not possibly know such details; he was obviously guessing, hoping to strike a nerve. Unfortunately, she lacked the ability to hide her reaction; she felt the color drain from her face as raw fury erupted inside her.

She punched at his chest with her free fist. "You are despicable! I pity any elleth you touch!"

Was it her imagination or did he actually flinch? "Let the gown fall," he commanded. "I am curious to see what it is that has Haldir so enthralled."

"Not a chance." Elanor flung up her chin, daring him to tear it off of her, but instead he looked toward the door. His attention was no longer on her, almost as if he had grown bored with a game he had never wished to play. Watchfulness had entered his face--a tight, alert expectancy she sensed had nothing at all to do with her.

And then she understood. Lurien knew as well as she did that Haldir was going to walk into the talan at any moment. It was what the Sentinel wanted--not her, not revenge of the type he was allowing her to believe. He wanted a fight. And he was using her to get it.

"No," she protested, but it was too late. Lurien's arms were tightening around her and the door was opening . . . .

She would never forget the look on Haldir's face, the shock of unimaginable betrayal, a pain so intense it ripped her heart in half. It lasted for only a fleeting instant and then it vanished, replaced by an icy black rage more ferocious and deadly than she could ever have imagined.

"Move away, Elanor." Haldir's gaze was fixed on Lurien. His eyes were hard, his mouth a flat, thin of contempt. For her or for Lurien?

"Haldir," she whispered, her mouth dry.

Lurien's hold on her had loosened, enabling her to move, to say or do something that would help the situation. Jumbled explanations tumbled through her head, but instead she stood frozen, unable to call up the slightest sound. Her entire body started to tremble. Surely Haldir knew that she would never betray him in the way it appeared. Surely he knew.

"Move away," Haldir repeated, looking as formidable as she had ever seen him. His hand rested on the hilt of his sword.

She knew better than to argue. Though softly spoken, the order cracked like a whip, reminding her of the time he had rebuked her after the goblin attack. Slowly, she backed away, watching the two males with dazed trepidation.

They drew their swords at the same time, the long slide from the scabbards producing a metallic hiss that turned her blood to ice. With a shudder, she watched them circle each other like wary wolves, oblivious to the narrow confines of the room. The long, curved blades made the talan seem frightfully small.

With shaking hands she thrust her arms back into her gown's sleeves and fumbled to secure the fastenings. Huddling against the wall, she shrank from the chilly expression in Haldir's eyes even though he was not looking at her. What was he thinking? What was he prepared to do? And most importantly, why did he fight? Was it for her or for honor? Or both?

She could sense the power of the two elves, the coiled strength within them as they circled each other, grimly ready to spring. The horror of it almost choked her. She reached out to Haldir in a silent plea for him to stop, but he ignored her, spinning suddenly in a complicated dance of wickedly edged blades. This was no practice session, but one of serious and deadly intent.

"Stop!" she cried out, finding her voice. "Stop it right now, both of you!"

She was ignored. The two elves moved quickly, their feet silent as they slipped around each other, blades screeching together and then apart, their movements similar and yet disparate. Lurien ducked a slash that barely missed his head and then twisted to his left only to find Haldir anticipating his move, blocking his path with a cut to his right. Lurien leaped back to avoid Haldir's blade, using his sword to block the steel aimed at his heart, but was not quite set in his stance; Haldir's thrust, backed by his full body weight, threw the sentinel backwards against the door.

Elanor gasped as it flew open on impact. Lurien stumbled backwards, adjusting his balance in the split second it took Haldir to follow, leaping toward Haldir as he stepped through it. With alarming swiftness Lurien swung at him with both hands, cleaving a gouge in the frame while Haldir arched back to avoid the blade.

"Please stop!" Elanor pleaded, her voice rising with panic. "Haldir, this is madness!"

He seemed not to hear, although that was impossible.

As the sentinel jerked his blade free, Haldir ducked past him and slammed the flat of his sword hard against Lurien's ribs. Grunting in pain, Lurien whirled with sword flung wide in a defensive arc. Elanor watched helplessly, unable even to step outside due to the deadly dance taking place on the exterior walkway.

As soon as she could, she followed them outside, her heart racing as she slipped past the two combatants, avoiding them while she beseeched them yet again to cease their fighting. Neither paid her any heed. They were too intent on each other, too caught up in whatever complicated dynamics existed between the two of them. The clang of steel on steel sent out a ringing echo amid the canopy of the forest. It was a sound heretofore unheard within the upper reaches of the Golden Wood. Surely others would hear, but would anyone be able to stop this?

She pressed back against the talan wall, watching as they fought in near silence, their blades hissing and striking like long steel snakes. Haldir's face was rigid; Lurien's was determined, his mouth twisted into a faint, chilling sneer. Why did he choose this of all days to challenge Haldir? Did he believe Haldir to be fully healed or did he seek to take advantage of him at a weak moment? And was Haldir able to handle this fight after a strenuous workout?

Both were agile, though Elanor would have guessed Haldir to be the better swordsman. Even so, Lurien looked frightfully accomplished. Desperately afraid that Haldir would be injured yet again, she pressed her hand to her throat while the two circled each other once more, moving a little farther along the walkway, away from where she stood. The walkway was only slightly wider than the graceful arching steps that led downward to the next level. This section had decorative railings, but some places did not, and if they fell against them, would they not break? To fight here like this was madness!

Lurien leaped toward Haldir, but he slid beneath the lunge, twisting along with Lurien, both of them moving dangerously close to the edge, their swords locked together for a brief moment. Then Haldir flung his sword wide, stepping away from the edge while he shoved Lurien backward and dodged the sentinel's answering swing. He slammed his blade against Lurien's thigh, flat-sided yet tilted just enough to slice a thin line into Lurien's leggings. With a hiss of pain, the sentinel spun, long hair flying as he smashed his elbow into Haldir's chest, knocking Haldir to the very top of the descending set of stairs.

Haldir blocked Lurien's next swing, the swords meeting in a resounding shudder, and then it was Lurien being forced down the steps. At a disadvantage, he backed downward, arching away from the next swing of his opponent's deadly sword. Haldir followed and Lurien whirled, lunging forward with both hands locked on the hilt of his blade. It connected so hard with Haldir's that sparks flew from the metal edges.

The two elves wrestled for control. Lurien backed down another step, spinning to leap the final four to the next platform before he hurled himself at Haldir, who leaped after him. Colliding hard, the two staggered and fell, grunting from the impact before bounding back to their feet, their blades crashing together again. Their chests heaved with the effort, their eyes locked with hostile purpose.

"Yield now, before I am forced to hurt you," Haldir warned, his voice low and menacing.

"Never," Lurien sneered, panting a little. "I am tired of you and your mocking attitude and your arrogance and pride. This is the day I will see you humbled. And I will be the one to do it."

x

The clang of steel on steel carried far through the treetops and below, reaching many sensitive ears. Conversations ceased as startled glances were exchanged. Sentinels and wardens alike turned and raced toward the sound. Others followed. But the Lady of Lórien did not hear, for she was in her garden, staring into her mirror with widened eyes.

Celeborn heard. He had been walking along the forest floor, meditating quietly as he so often did. The clatter of swords jerked him from his thoughts, instantly etching fury across his normally serene features. Fighting in the heights of the giant mellyrn? Who had the audacity to disrupt the city's peace? Who dared bring discord into this place?

Following the sound, he sprang up the steps, taking them two at a time in the heat of his outrage. Clearly, this was no training session! Nothing infuriated him more than the thought of two elves fighting each other in earnest, for it reminded him sickeningly of the blood and horror of ages past--the kinslayings at Doriath and at Arvernian, where he had fought in defense of his home, each time losing friends, kin, and the battle itself. He would put a stop to this himself!

And then, from behind him, he heard his name called.

x

Haldir could see Elanor at the edge of his vision, her face white with fear for his safety. He could do nothing to ease her concern--this confrontation was not one from which he would walk away; his rage was too great. The wild and primal emotion he'd felt when he saw her trapped in Lurien's arms still burned hot, too hot to ignore. In two thousand years he had not experienced its like; it was as though the very fires of Mordor blazed within his heart, relentlessly driving the swing of his sword as he sought to teach Lurien a lesson he would never forget.

As this thought slid through his mind, Lurien lunged forward, his blade arcing viciously over his shoulder to collide with Haldir's in a rain of blue sparks. Lurien might not tend the borders of Lórien, yet the sentinel trained frequently, pushing himself in skill and mastering the sword as well as any of Haldir's wardens. In fact, he was a better fighter now than he had been the last time they'd fought, so many long years ago. Now they were well matched.

A shout from below echoed amid the leafy canopy, gruff shouts Haldir recognized as Beredain's. He blocked Lurien's next swing, blades screeching as they each sought to gain the upper hand. In the next instant Lurien jerked back and spun with blinding speed, hurling both his body and weapon against Haldir in a harrowing dive that flung them both precariously near the unprotected edge of the landing. Haldir stumbled to a crouch, sword point aimed defensively at Lurien.

The sentinel laughed. "Now who is the better fighter?" he taunted as he danced back to avoid Haldir's next assault. Blades tapped out a wicked rhythm as they whirled around the landing.

The voices were growing louder, approaching footsteps telling them that they would soon have an audience. Even now, wardens and sentinels streamed up the stairs, Beredain in the lead, with Orophin right behind him. Haldir saw them both come to a halt, freezing as they took in the situation.

Seemingly oblivious, Lurien swung again and Haldir parried, their swords locked together as they wrestled for control. Lurien slid back, twisting his wrists to force the two swords into a circle that unlocked the blades with a ringing hiss. He ducked Haldir's next thrust, slipping under Haldir's guard to slice into his tunic along his side, near the ribs that were so recently healed.

Aware of their audience and of Elanor's impassioned entreaties, Haldir ignored his wound. With cold fury he rushed toward Lurien, flicking his blade underhanded toward the sentinel's chest only to fling the blade to the side at the last moment, grazing the sentinel's cheek. A long sliver of blood oozed from the cut, causing Lurien to pull back and touch his face. He must have felt the blood, but he did not even glance at his fingers. Instead, he raised his sword again.

"Prepared to yield?" he sneered. "Or are you so anxious to be humbled in front of your ward?"

Haldir's gaze shifted briefly to Elanor, who stood white-faced at the foot of the steps. Too close, he thought, and snarled at her to move. As she scuttled backward, partway up the stairway, he parried Lurien's next thrust almost mechanically, thrusting the blade aside while he shot a quick frown at Beredain. Orophin was there now, standing next to Beredain, and behind him stood Rúmil. He could see they were in a quandary over what to do, attempt to break up the fight or stand clear and watch. After all, he was their captain . . . .

As this went through his head, Lurien's blade snaked out, but Haldir thrust it aside with a scowl. They each stepped back, spinning in opposite directions only to slam blades together again, body to body, in an attempt to force each other back.

Haldir twisted to the right, arching back to avoid Lurien's slice across his chest, and then rolled under the sentinel's arm. With lightning swiftness he sprang to his feet behind the sentinel, who whirled with raised blade, forcing Haldir back a step. He didn't need Elanor's gasp to tell him how near he stood to the edge of the flet; he could sense the yawning emptiness behind him.

Breathing deeply, he adjusted his stance and slid precariously along the flet's edge. Lurien seemed to be waiting for him to move to a safer position, and the instant he did so, the sentinel rushed him once more. Haldir crouched, evading the blade, then uncoiled to his full height and faced Lurien just as he whirled back to the center of the platform and swung out his blade.

Haldir parried, following the move by grasping the tall overhead stair support. With one hand he swung around the post, fending off Lurien's next blow with a powerful swing of his arm. Lurien stumbled briefly, a mistake that enabled Haldir to whip his blade across Lurien's upper torso. Lurien leaped back, one hand on his chest while a weal of bright red blood spilled over his fingers.

"Do you yield?" Haldir demanded, his sword poised in front of him.

"Never!" Lurien snarled. He gathered himself to his full height. His bloodied hand dropped to his side, but the other still clutched his sword.

Elanor descended to the foot of the stairway, fearlessly joining them on the flet. "Lurien, you are wounded! It is time to stop, both of you!"

"Yield, Lurien," Beredain called out from the opposite side of the platform. "You cannot win. It is over." Others, including Orophin and Rúmil, echoed this statement.

With an angry bellow, Lurien leaped toward Haldir, his blade lashing out so rapidly that Haldir barely parried it. The next whirl of bodies took them too close to Elanor and blocked her retreat to the staircase. Weaving and circling, Haldir steered the fighting away from her, his attention on Lurien's blade while, again and again, he hammered his sword against Lurien's. Evading a clean stroke across his chest, he spun to the left only to be forced into a backward somersault in order to avoid Lurien's next thrust. He landed on his feet and leaped quickly backwards to avoid another swing of the blade.

Alarm flashed through him as one foot slipped off the edge of the platform. Balancing only on his right foot, he swung his arms wide, flailing for something to grasp. The stairwell post was just out of reach and there was nothing else. With a horrified cry, Elanor flung herself toward him with outstretched hands, but before she could touch him he had adjusted his balance and was falling to the floor of the flet. Automatically, Haldir reached out to seize her . . . .

How he missed her he never knew, but his fingers only brushed the skirt of her gown while she tried in vain to snatch hold of his hand. Lurien also hurled himself forward in a valiant attempt to save her, but to no avail. For a fraction of an instant she was there beside him--so close, so dear to him, so infinitely beloved.

Then she was gone.

xxx

To be continued… Feedback VERY much appreciated!

xxx

We are currently having a writing contest in the Haldir Lovers Yahoo Group (ends on Feb 1, 2006). This contest will be judged using a scoresheet, with three qualified judges. Each entry is judged anonymously. Het or gen only; each entry must contain at least one elf. Winner will receive an award banner and a T-shirt. For details email Julie or check in the HL Files, top folder. Thanks!


	31. Chapter ThirtyOne

Surprise, surprise! and Merry Christmas and Happy Everything! Here is a gift for our ER readers. I really think we deserve a few scantily clad elves on our doorsteps for getting this chapter out so fast, lol... and before Christmas too. Anyway, hope you enjoy. Feedback VERY much appreciated!

Love to all, J&F

x

**Chapter Thirty-One**

_Open space . . . sharp, whipping leaves . . . a mallorn branch lashing cruelly._

_A lifetime of memories flashing past with the upward rush of the wind, crystalline quick, tearing at her with their poignancy._

_Another branch . . . terrible, knifelike pain . . . regret._

_Darkness. _

x

Rúmil stared in horror, unable to take in the reality of the scene that had just unfolded before him. Elanor was gone. She had made no scream or cry. All that lingered was an eerie silence and an emptiness where she had been but a moment before.

Haldir hunched awkwardly at the edge of the flet, his posture twisted and frozen, his head bowed in appalling defeat. Lurien still sprawled where he had landed in his attempt to reach Elanor, his sword lying a short distance behind where he had dropped it. Neither elf moved.

Orophin and Beredain's forward movement jerked Rúmil from his paralysis. The three of them hurried to Haldir, ignoring Lurien, who was slowly dragging himself to his knees.

"Haldir," Orophin murmured, crouching alongside their ashen-faced brother. He put an arm around Haldir's shoulders while Beredain and several others peered wordlessly downward. Rúmil knew the view would be blocked by several huge mallorn branches, some of them holding bridges and walkways, any of which Elanor could have struck on the way down. If there was anything to be seen, someone would have said so.

Lurien crawled to the edge and looked over, leaving a trail of blood behind him. "The fault is mine," he said in a hollow voice.

No one contradicted him.

Giving the sentinel a contemptuous look, Rúmil leaned down to remove Haldir's sword from his hand. "Let me take it," he said gently.

Haldir slackened his grip on the hilt, but otherwise he did not move.

Several elves had joined them on the flet, while others stayed where they were and still others soundlessly retreated. Quick footsteps echoed in the distance.

Haldir slowly lifted his head and gazed with haunted eyes at the shocked faces of those who surrounded him. The only people he seemed to recognize were his brothers, and although he glanced briefly at Lurien, he seemed hardly to see him. His short, ragged breathing told Rúmil how desperately close he was to being sick.

Then his hand moved to his chest as though beseeching the hidden indwaedh for a miracle. A long moment passed before his eyes widened, jerking from one brother and to the other.

"She lives," he whispered incredulously. Rúmil had rarely seen such ragged emotion in Haldir's face. "She lives!" he repeated, and leaped to his feet.

x

They'd had hardly enough time to reach the place where the mirror showed they should stand, hardly enough time to ready themselves before the catastrophe occurred. And then she came crashing through the leaves above them, her downward progress slowed by the very branches that injured her. It was Celeborn's steel-like strength that saved her, his muscled arms snatching her from the air as she hurtled toward them like a small shooting star.

Galadriel's arms locked around her husband's waist as she strained with all her might to keep him from being dragged over the flet's edge by the force of Elanor's fall. Behind her, a sentinel encircled Galadriel's waist with one arm while he gripped the small but sturdy mallorn branch with his free hand, anchoring them to the tree. Had she not foreseen that it could be done, she would not have attempted such a dangerous rescue. But the mirror had spoken just in time.

Working together, they hauled Elanor back onto the flet and placed her gently on her back. At once Celeborn and Galadriel bent to examine her. Her gown was torn, exposing long lacerations in her flesh, but there was very little blood.

"Send for Elrond," Celeborn told the sentinel grimly. "And a litter."

As the sentinel hurried away, Galadriel gazed at the unconscious elleth with compassion and placed a gentle hand on Elanor's brow. "Come back to the light," she whispered. "Come back, Elanor. Your place is here. Haldir needs you. You cannot leave him now."

By this time others had arrived, but neither Celeborn nor Galadriel looked up.

"How does she fare?" The voice was Healea's. To Galadriel's approval, Cothion's wife carried a blanket, which she quickly spread over Elanor before kneeling down next to Galadriel.

Celeborn glanced briefly at Healea before catching Galadriel's eye. They both knew that the fëa had started to leave, but had heard Galadriel's call and returned.

"She lives," he replied. "Barely."

x

Haldir arrived the same moment as Elrond, but he had no eyes for anyone but Elanor. She lay so still with her face so pale that he would have thought she was dead had the jewel on his chest not told him otherwise. He moved forward, as closely as he could go without interfering with the work of the healers. His wretchedness was as acute as a physical pain, stabbing at his heart like a dozen sharp knives. And yet the worst of his despair was gone, for he could see that she was breathing.

He stood still and kept back, watching miserably while Elrond shifted the blanket aside and examined Elanor with a grave expression. After a brief period, the Elf-lord glanced up, looking straight at Haldir. "Come," he said. "You can help her."

Feeling many pairs of eyes on him, Haldir moved forward while Galadriel rose and stepped away, allowing Haldir to take her place at Elanor's side.

Elrond's voice resonated deeply. "It is because of you, Marchwarden, that her fëa remains, but it is weak. You can strengthen it by placing your hand here, directly over her heart where she wears your jewel. Keep the indwaedh beneath your palm and reach out to her with your own heart."

Haldir did as he was told, pressing his palm reverently against Elanor's chest so that he could feel her fluttering heartbeat. He had done minor healings before, directing healing energy into cuts and bruises and sore muscles, but this was very different. This demanded much more of him, calling for a deeper commitment, one that drew strength from his very fëa.

Even so, he instinctively knew what to do. Closing his eyes, he focused on his own fëa, sending it out to find hers, quickly enfolding her in a tender and healing embrace. It was the most intimate thing he had ever done, and he did it willingly, praying that it would be enough. After a few moments, he could hear that Elanor's breathing was more steady and natural.

How long he stayed like this he did not know, but when he opened his eyes it was Galadriel who knelt where Elrond had been. "Enough," she said in a low voice. "You may rise, Haldir. We will see that Elanor is cared for. You have done all you can."

Aware that he was being dismissed, Haldir moved away, reduced yet again to the role of observer while the healers carefully transferred Elanor to a litter and covered her with the blanket. He could feel Orophin's hand on his shoulder, but he did not turn to look at his brother. Rúmil stood on his other side, his stance shielding, as though he thought Haldir might need to be protected.

At this point, Healea walked over to him. "I will be assisting with Elanor's care," she told Haldir calmly. "She will require a female attendant, and I have trained in the healing arts, though it is not the area at which I excel. Elanor knows and trusts me, and I will do what I can for her. Galadriel has agreed to it."

Haldir met her eyes squarely. "Thank you, Healea."

"I do it for her, of course," Healea added, as though she sensed his surprise, "but I do it also for you." She paused for a moment, as though searching for words that were difficult to speak. "I knew something would happen. I have been watching Lurien for weeks, knowing he was up to no good, but I thought it had to do with Elanor. I sought to protect her, and yet I was not there when she needed me. For that I deeply apologize."

"You owe no apology," he said evenly, pushing aside old memories that no longer mattered. "You have been good to Elanor. You have my trust."

Healea bowed her head slightly. "I will care for her as though she is one of my own flesh. She will recover fully, Haldir. I will accept nothing less."

Haldir's gaze shifted to Elanor's litter, which was just disappearing around the curve of the steps. "Nor will I." When Healea turned away he began to follow, but his brothers' hands stopped him, each of them clamping onto one of his arms with iron determination.

"Wait," Rúmil advised. "They will not allow you inside the talan while they work on her, any more than they allowed us inside when it was you lying there half dead from your wounds. And we are your kin."

"They cannot stop me."

"Yes, they can," Orophin countered. "You know it as well as we do. Let us take you to your talan instead so we can tend your wounds. You can wash and change into a clean tunic."

Haldir shook his head with impatience. "I need no tending. I must be near her."

His brothers exchanged a glance. "Then we will go, all three of us," Rúmil said patiently. "We will wait with you, Orophin and I. Outside the healing talan."

Haldir only nodded. He had no more words.

x

Lurien sat alone on the flet where they had fought, entrapped in a strange stupor that prevented him from feeling anything at all. He had watched the others rush off, but had found he could not seem to move, as though every joint in his body was locked in aching paralysis. For a little while and without thinking very much about anything, he listened to the rustling leaves and voices filtering up from below. They did not seem real to him. Even he did not seem real. He felt completely and utterly alone.

Eventually, he looked down and observed the spreading blood on the front of his tunic. As he stared at it, he began to feel the pain that must have been there all along. It hurt rather badly, he was surprised to note. Why had he not noticed it sooner?

Little by little, he dragged himself to his feet and tried to force his mind to function once more. Haldir had said that Elanor lived. She was alive. The fall had not killed her. It was the only thought that seemed to make any sense, and he clung to it with dogged tenacity as he began to stagger back to his talan.

He reached his home without passing anyone at all, which was just as well since he had nothing to say. Inside, he shut the door and sagged against it while he stared at his personal belongings as if he had never seen them before. Where was his sword? He did not remember dropping it, but he must have done so when he had thrown himself toward Elanor.

Someone was trying to open the door at his back.

"Lurien, let me in."

With an inward sigh, he moved away, watching dully as Tarwë came inside and quickly shut the door. "You are wounded," she said in a low voice.

He glanced down at his bloodstained tunic. "Yes, it seems so," he agreed.

"You sound indifferent." Her shaking fingers fumbled with the fastenings to his tunic, tugging sharply when one of the many soft leather ties resisted. He heard a ripping sound as she tore it away and went on to the next.

"I _am_ indifferent," he said, gazing at the gaily colored woven rug in front of him. "I care not if I live or die. Let me bleed to death. I will do so gladly."

"Do not be a fool! You will allow me to wash and bind your wound, or I will be very angry with you."

"You are not angry yet?" he asked with idle curiosity.

She did not answer him until she had his tunic off and had heaved it onto the floor. "Yes, I am angry," she said curtly. "I do not think I have ever been this angry in my life. But I can be angrier still, so do not try my patience."

"Then what can I do but obey?" He did not understand why he was being so flippant, but he saw the way her eyes flashed with a fury he had never seen in her before.

"Do not make a jest of this, Lurien." She walked away from him, returning shortly with a length of clean linen, healing salve, and a basin of warm water. "Come here and sit down," she ordered, her lovely face taut with control.

He did so meekly. She was not gentle with him and her ministrations hurt, but he made no protest because he knew that he deserved it. He watched her face as she tended him; her lips were tightly pressed together and her eyes avoided his, but she still looked beautiful to him, as beautiful as she ever had. He still wanted her, even at this moment, and the knowledge filled him with deep and unexpected shame.

"There," she said tersely, once the linen was secured into place. "The wound will remain clean and should heal well. You are fortunate it was not any deeper."

"Fortunate," he repeated with irony.

She collapsed into the nearest chair and frowned at him. "Yes, fortunate, Lurien. It is bad enough as it is." She had grown remote now that she had tended to him.

His lips twisted ruefully. "It hurts quite a lot."

"I imagine Elanor hurts more," she responded in a cool tone. "Your recklessness nearly cost Elanor her immortal life, and you have not even asked about her. Do you care how she fares?"

He was shocked to see disdain in her eyes. "Of course I care," he said harshly. "I was told that she lived. I am glad and relieved."

"Well, that is something at least." She paused, her hands clasped tightly together as though she feared she might strike him. "Well, you have made your mark. Are you proud of yourself?"

Flinching at her sarcasm, he looked away. "Of course not. I failed miserably."

She was silent, and when he looked at her again, he saw great pain in her face. "Lurien, you do not understand what you have done. There will be a price to pay."

Her words echoed in his head. "I know it," he said, after a long silence. "Whatever the price, I will pay it."

She rose to her feet, her chin high and her gaze level. "Yes, Lurien, you will." With those words, she walked away from him and out of his talan, closing the door quietly behind her.

He sat very still, listening to the thud of his own heartbeat. His breath burned his throat. There were no other sounds. Nothing at all.

x

Haldir sat numbly on a bench outside the healing talan where they had taken Elanor. Despite his choking guilt he maintained a stoic expression, allowing no one a glimpse of the anguished self-recriminations that were eating him alive. He did not share the depth of his suffering with his brothers, for they would already know of it, and he did not wish to hear what they would say. Most likely they would try to lay the blame on Lurien, but that would hardly help, and it was not even true. The blame was his own.

It seemed ironic to him that Elanor should lie in the same talan where he had lain, on the very same bed. He had pushed himself inside once, briefly, and had seen her lying there, so still and white, her body perhaps broken beyond all hope of repair. Hírion and his associate were in there with Elrond, and Elanor's gown was being cut away while Healea stood nearby. Healea had sent Haldir a compassionate look, but the others had ignored him until Elrond, without even glancing up from his examination of Elanor, had crisply told him to go and wait outside. After a brief internal struggle Haldir had capitulated, but the yearning to return and kneel by her bed was so strong that to resist was torture.

Heartsick and frozen, he stared downward, his elbows resting on his knees. He felt shattered, as though there were pieces of him strewn around, here and there, and all that was left of him was this deadened, swirling sense of unreality. Over and over he replayed the entire scene in his mind, mortified to realize that he had not even tried to resist the urge to draw his sword. His anger had been too great, with a power that had devoured his capacity to deny it. What had happened to Elanor was entirely his fault.

His fault.

He who had prided himself on his strength of mind and self-discipline had failed to control his temper. He had allowed Lurien to goad him. His weaknesses and flaws were more numerous than he had known, and he was unspeakably shamed by the knowledge.

He felt his brothers stiffen even before he looked up and saw Lurien standing a short distance along the walkway to the nearest set of steps.

"What do _you_ want?" Rúmil demanded with belligerence.

Lurien spread out his arms, palms upward. "I want nothing. I come because . . . there is nowhere else for me to go."

"I could make a few suggestions," Orophin said grimly.

Haldir lifted his hand. "Let him be."

He did not address Lurien, however, nor did the sentinel reply. He simply walked over and sat on the second bench, set at an angle with the one upon which Haldir occupied. Lurien's face was empty and had taken on a grayish tinge, and the cut on his cheek looked painful. At the moment Haldir could summon up no feeling for Lurien, not anger, not dislike, only . . . nothing. Just emptiness.

No one spoke.

Every moment went by with tortuous slowness. A white-faced Nerwen arrived with a flask of wine, but when she offered it to him, Haldir shook his head, unwilling even to tend his own thirst until he knew how Elanor fared.

And then Doria appeared, her face swollen and streaked with tears. Orophin started toward her, but she gave him a watery smile and shook her head, turning instead to Lurien. Quietly, without a word, she sat down beside him, but though she covered his hand with her own, she said nothing and neither did he.

Orophin paced. Rúmil glowered. The silence and tension was palpable and might have been impossible to endure had the dark wall of Haldir's pain not overwhelmed all other emotion.

After what seemed like an eternity, Elrond came out and gestured to Haldir. "Come," he said, his gaze inscrutable. "You may see her now." His voice gave nothing away.

Haldir rose and followed.

Within the talan, the scene had changed little. Elanor lay beneath the blanket, showing no signs of consciousness although he could see the rise and fall of her chest. Through the power of the indwaedh, he could feel the hum of her feminine life force, and it seemed to him to be steady and stable.

He moved to her side and went down on one knee, silently willing her to open her eyes and speak to him, but she did not. From the corner of his eye he saw Healea take hold of Hírion and the other healer and pull them out of the talan, leaving only Elrond behind.

"What are her injuries?" he asked, keeping his tone as level as he could manage.

"We are uncertain. She struck a number of branches as she fell. It appears she attempted to catch hold of one of them, for her shoulder was dislocated. We reset it and tended the wounds in her flesh. She also suffered a blow to the head, and another to the chest. At least one of her ribs is broken. Perhaps more. We will know more when she awakens. When that will be, I do not know." Each word pierced Haldir like a knife.

"I see," he said bleakly. He rose and faced Elrond. "And you can make no guess?"

"I fear not. If I could, I would tell you." Elrond's eyes held compassion, and he spoke none of the condemnatory words that Haldir expected and thought he deserved. Instead, he said, "I know this is difficult, Haldir, but she lives and will continue to live. You must take comfort in that."

Haldir grew suddenly conscious of exactly who it was who stood before him. This was an elf whose own wife had suffered far greater travails than Elanor had. The thought was followed by the stunning revelation that he had actually begun to think of Elanor in such terms without even realizing it. His wife. That was what he wished her to be. When had he made up his mind about that? Yet would that ever happen now? What had he done?

"Go now and rest," Elrond advised. "You have an accounting to face."

"I do not wish to leave her."

Elrond inclined his head. "Then stay until they send for you. I doubt she will wake, but if she does, I know I need not remind you that the healers are near and easily summoned. Do you wish me to tend your wound?" His penetrating gaze rested on Haldir's side, where Lurien's sword had sliced into his tunic and along his ribcage. It was not a serious wound, but it had bled.

"Nay, 'tis nothing," Haldir muttered, trying not to sound as impatient as he felt. "You have my thanks," he added belatedly, and felt himself flush for his slight impertinence.

With a lift of one eyebrow, Elrond took his leave.

x

Tarwë lay shielded within a leafy arbor in one of the smallest gardens in the city, far away from Lurien and all her friends. Her tears had flowed nonstop ever since she left Lurien, but now at last they were beginning to taper off. Still, she could not have felt more misery had he been slain.

She had believed in him. How could she have been so wrong? She had believed that the goodness in him would prevail, but instead he had yielded to his dark desire for vengeance. She could not understand it and never had. Why had she been unable to stop him? Why? The question tore her apart. She had failed . . . failed . . .

"Tarwë," said a quiet male voice.

Startled, Tarwë jerked her head up, her mouth falling open when she saw who had addressed her. "Y-yes?" she quavered, very conscious of her tear-blotched face.

"My wife asked me to find you," Cothion said calmly. "She is staying near Elanor for now, but she is concerned about you."

Surprised that this high-ranking elf was here for her, Tarwë sat up and brushed back a few strands of hair, knowing she must look dreadful but not caring very much. "Please tell her I am w-well. There is no need for her to be concerned."

The tall and dignified elf regarded her thoughtfully. "May I sit?"

Tarwë hesitated. She had only wanted to be alone, but the idea of companionship now seemed unexpectedly appealing. "Please do," she said, her tone subdued.

Healea's husband lowered himself, carefully arranging his robes around his raised knees before he looked at her again. With compassionate eyes and a faint smile, he drew a handkerchief from some hidden place and handed it to her. She accepted it rather self-consciously. She dabbed at her eyes and tried to smile. "It was kind of Healea to think of me."

He studied her, his expression kind and wise. "I know why you grieve, but there was nothing you could have done. Lurien's mind was set. No one could have swayed him from his chosen course of action."

Tarwë bit her lip, afraid she might start weeping again. "I suppose you are right," she said, trying not to let her voice wobble.

"Perhaps now it is over for all time," Cothion added.

"Perhaps." Tarwë lowered her gaze to a tiny insect crawling along the ground between the blades of grass.

"Good can arise out of the greatest evil, do you understand that? I have seen it happen."

Her eyes flew up. "Good?" she echoed bitterly. "Elanor lies broken and silent. Lurien is wounded, and perhaps Haldir too, for aught I know. Nothing has been proven or gained. What good could possibly come from this?"

Cothion was silent for a long moment. "I do not know. Perhaps he will learn something. Perhaps we all will."

Tarwë trailed a finger along the grass, following the insect's path. "I know what I have learned. I have learned that I gave my love to the wrong ellon. I have learned that love is not enough." She glanced up in time to see Cothion's pale eyebrows lift.

"I am sorry to hear this," he remarked. "Some lessons are cruel, I agree, yet I am not so sure this is one of them. Love is the greatest power there is."

"If I give my love again," she said doggedly, "it will be to one who deserves it, one who is noble and good in his heart."

"You truly think you are free to make that choice? You can wipe out your love so easily?"

Stricken by this viewpoint, she lowered her chin, pressing the handkerchief to her mouth as she whispered, "If I cannot . . . then I am doomed."

Cothion sighed. "I am not helping, I see."

"Your intentions are kindly meant and I appreciate them," she said hollowly.

"Tarwë . . . make no hasty decisions. Give Lurien time. Perhaps things will fall into place and give this day's events a meaning that is as yet unclear."

Tarwë bowed her head. "Thank you, Master Cothion. I will try to heed your words, for I know them to be wise."

x

For a short time they were alone. Haldir sat beside her bed, as close as he could get and still have room for his legs. She was alive. Over and over he reminded himself of that fact while he gazed at her face and listened to her soft, even breathing, cherishing the sound of it. Her eyes were closed, her dark lashes pressed against her cheeks. She was so achingly beautiful and precious to him.

"Elanor, I am so sorry," he whispered huskily. "This should not have happened. I should have been able to catch you. I should have . . . " His voice drifted off. He reached for her hand, wrapping his fingers around hers. "I love you," he said fiercely. "I love you."

It was the first time he had said those words to her, and it hurt him to know that she was unaware of it. "Hear me, my love. Hear me and open your eyes. Look at me."

She did not respond. That she was alive at all seemed a miracle, but he was greedy and wanted more. He wanted her awake and alert and talking and moving and laughing and in his arms. He wanted to hear her voice. He wanted her softness enfolded around him for all time.

Why could he not heal her? He could heal her bruises and aching muscles but not this? It seemed preposterous, but that was the way of it.

_Wake up, Elanor! Wake up and look at me!_

He wanted to shout out his frustration, but he suppressed the urge.

He seldom shouted. Only in battle did he raise his voice, but rarely in anger or impatience. Yet right now he could not seem to stop himself from feeling rage. It boiled up inside of him, a cauldron of seething frustration and fury and horror that any of this should have happened.

He lowered his head and kissed each of her fingers. "I love you," he said again, very softly. "You will wake up, sooner or later. I know you will, for I will accept nothing less. And when you do, my Elanor, I fully intend to claim you as my own."

x

He was summoned just before dusk.

Haldir left Elanor reluctantly, taking the nearest winding staircase while trying not to think too much about what lay ahead. Many times had he climbed these steps into the heights of this, the greatest of all mellyrn, but only once with the knowledge of his own offense against the laws of this city . . . and never with such a heavy heart. He had erred badly this day. Even the trees seemed to rustle in agreement, bending away from him as if displeased.

Healea had taken his place at Elanor's side; he only hoped he would be allowed to return to her later. As Elrond had said, there would be an accounting and a price to pay for this day's sorry work. Still, he would face whatever came and pay whatever price was required of him. His pride demanded it, and in any case, he had no other choice.

He arrived at the landing, silently crossing the leaf–shaped platform to stand before the short flight of stairs leading to the uppermost reaches of the High Talan, Galadriel and Celeborn's seat of power. Usually he went even farther, but today he waited like a supplicant, facing the two tall sentinels who stood guard at the foot of the stairs. To his left and right, two wardens and two sentinels stood at attention, their hands folded behind them, eyes trained straight ahead. He knew they were here to bear witness to whatever transpired during the gathering of Lórien's high court.

A few moments later Lurien appeared and took his place a short distance from Haldir, facing the same set of stairs that Haldir faced. Haldir's sole glance in his direction informed him that Lurien's face was as grey as it had been earlier. He wore a clean tunic and had obviously been tended to, which was more than Haldir could say about himself. He wondered briefly how much blood the Sentinel had lost, but could spare him no sympathy in that regard. He also wondered if his own face was grey.

A faint sound behind them announced the arrival of another, one who had every right to be here notwithstanding that he was not of this realm. Lord Elrond did not glance at either Haldir or Lurien, but a gesture from his hand told them it was time to proceed. Wordlessly, they followed the master of Imladris up the final set of stairs, with the two sentinels and two wardens filing behind them.

So lofty that it was nearly above the forest canopy, the High Talan offered spectacular views of both sky and city. This chamber was not large, holding no more than eight benches and six chairs, and its long windows allowed the breeze to flow through from all directions. During an early morning council meeting the light was soft and inviting, while at dusk, magnificent sunsets often etched the pale pillars in shades of orange and peach, giving them a magical appearance. But tonight the sky held only clouds and the room seemed filled with gloom, the fading light bleaching away all color.

As Elrond walked over and took a seat, Haldir glanced around, noting the others who were already assembled. To the left, in one of the finely carved chairs, sat Elorean. Tall and very lean, with piercing sapphire eyes, he was both councilor and adjudicator, and was held in high esteem by Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel. Haldir had spoken with him many times regarding his wardens and knew Elorean to be fair and mindful of all aspects of a situation. He was pleased that Elorean was here.

Near Elorean sat Nadië, a longtime friend and advisor to Haldir and his brothers. She had always supported him yet now her lips were flat, her gaze disapproving as she looked at him. Of course Cothion was present. An advisor to both Celeborn and Galadriel, he was a respected council member with a superior knowledge of Elvish history--including the unfortunate and intimate details of Haldir's other long-ago confrontation with Lurien. The final member of the court proved to be Lurien's superior, Earon, Captain of the Sentinels. He was frowning at Lurien, and for the most part ignored Haldir.

All awaited the arrival of Lórien's lord and lady.

At long last the door to the inner rooms opened and the two rulers emerged from the private living area of the High Talan. Galadriel was dressed in white while Celeborn wore silver; both appeared very stern as they moved toward their usual seats within the council chamber. Haldir watched dejectedly as Galadriel sank gracefully into her chair, her demeanor one of icy calm, her blue eyes giving nothing away. Celeborn, on the other hand, turned a wrathful gaze upon Haldir and Lurien.

Elorean stood, moving to bow before the ruling couple. "My lady, my lord, the court has convened as requested. Before we start, I must ask all who gather here to keep an open mind and heart and put aside other emotions."

Celeborn lifted a brow. "I thank you for the reminder, Elorean," he said dryly.

Elorean bowed again and returned to his seat.

"We are all disheartened by this day's happenings," Elrond put in, in stentorian accents, "but I agree that open minds are needed."

Silence engulfed the room, and then Celeborn rose to his feet, his irate gaze directed toward Haldir and Lurien. Haldir lowered his eyes, forcing himself to remain motionless. The low throb of the indwaedh was his only comfort, reminding him over and over that Elanor lived, that no matter what else happened, she was still alive.

"All these long years," Celeborn began, "we have lived in this wood, and we have lived in peace. We have fought enemies, true, but never have they passed beyond the borders of this land. This city is our refuge, our sanctuary. Yet today that peace was broken." He walked closer, halting in front of them. "You two have much to answer for," he said, his words slicing like a knife. "Your attempt, in the very arms of our beloved mellyrn, to destroy each other for the _second_ time is inexcusable. Yet we will follow protocol and hear your words on this matter."

Haldir lifted his gaze as Celeborn turned away from them with a swirl of his robes. Galadriel looked on silently, her sapphire gaze hiding her emotions. What was she thinking? Was it sadness that darkened her eyes? Disappointment? Or was she as furious as Celeborn?

Celeborn paced with an angry step that made his robes flare at each turn. His gaze swept over them accusingly. "You have broken my trust, destroyed my faith in you! Did we not pardon you when you fought over Healea? Did you not tell us it would never happen again? And now you fight over Elanor!" Celeborn stopped and stared at Haldir. "I thought better of you, Marchwarden."

Haldir held Celeborn's drilling gaze, but said nothing in his own defense.

Cothion rose to his feet. "If I may speak, my lord."

Celeborn gave a short nod and stepped back.

"It is true they have faced each other in this way before, yet I ask that we consider only the events of today. Healea's involvement is not relevant. And may I remind you that my wife was as much to blame for that other incident as either of these two."

Celeborn looked at him. "Perhaps so, but that day long ago does bear noting. My question is this: who next will be injured when they lose their tempers without a care for anyone else? Will it be within the dining hall? Or at a social gathering? Must we all fear for our lives when they are near? I am well aware that Elanor may yet die of her injuries."

"If Elanor dies," Lurien said in a low, clear voice, "I will offer my own life as recompense."

"Elanor will not die!" Haldir said in sudden fury.

Shocked silence greeted this unprecedented offer and reaction.

Lurien did not flinch or glance at Haldir. "If I may speak, my lord?"

Celeborn nodded tersely. "You may. Haldir, you will remain silent."

"What happened today is my fault. I am solely to blame. If anyone is to be reprimanded it should be I."

Celeborn arched a brow. "Indeed, Sentinel? But it takes two to fight. Haldir has as much to account for, as do you."

"I forced him to his actions, my lord." No emotion colored Lurien's voice. "As I said before, if Elanor dies, I will gladly forfeit my life."

"Enough." Galadriel's voice cut through the murmurs. "That will not be necessary, Lurien." The Lady of Lórien rose to her feet and walked over to stand beside Celeborn, resting a light hand on his shoulder. Celeborn glanced at her, and with a faint nod returned to his seat.

Galadriel faced Haldir and Lurien, looking deeply at each of them in turn. "Elanor lives," she informed them, "only because of the warning I saw in my mirror. Without it, her body would be lying broken on the ground and her fëa would be in the Halls of Waiting. That would have been a huge tragedy for us all."

Haldir found he could hardly breathe. Never had he felt so dishonored or ashamed as he did at this moment, and he knew that she knew it.

"And even though that did not happen, you are here in this court to provide an explanation for your actions. Tell me, Haldir, why did you fight?"

"I fought for Elanor," Haldir said wretchedly. "I fought for her honor."

"You had reason to believe her honor was in question?"

Haldir hesitated. "She was in Lurien's arms. In my talan."

"Not by her own choice?"

"Not by her own choice," Haldir concurred, through gritted teeth. He would have stopped there, but felt the Lady brush his mind with her own. In answer to her unspoken command, he added reluctantly, "She loves me and I love her. I wish her to be my wife. She would never willingly accept Lurien in such a way. I know this absolutely."

"I see," Galadriel said slowly. "So this is a very different situation from the first time you fought Lurien, when you sought to protect your own pride and reputation. Today you fought to protect the elleth you loved."

"Yes," Haldir admitted, feeling a flush rise in his cheeks. He did not wish to discuss his deep feelings for Elanor any more than he wished to discuss Healea or that other incident, especially in front of Healea's husband. He forced himself to bow his head while an ill feeling settled in his stomach, escalating the tension already knotted there.

Galadriel turned to Lurien. "And you, Lurien? Why did you fight?"

"I fought for vengeance, my lady," Lurien answered, his tone humble and flat.

"Vengeance? For what reason would you desire vengeance?"

Lurien's face turned red, but he answered evenly, "I have been humiliated by Haldir in the past. I wished to repay the favor." He paused while the Lady stared deeply into his eyes, most likely urging him for further clarification. "It was a question of . . . pride and self-respect," he added in a low voice. "I created the situation with Elanor so he would be forced to fight me. I knew he would refuse any other kind of challenge from me. I wished to prove myself his equal . . . or better."

"And did you do so?" she inquired, her tone unrevealing.

Lurien looked down. "No, my lady, I did not."

"Did you intend to slay him?" The sharp question came from Celeborn.

Lurien's body jerked visibly. The tension among those present pressed like a physical force. Everyone knew Lurien could not lie about this; Galadriel would know the truth no matter what he said.

"No, my lord. I would have wounded him gladly, but I did not intend his death. I would never willingly slay another elf."

Earon released a sigh of relief. Nadië shifted in her chair as if easing taut muscles.

"Haldir, what say you?" Galadriel asked. "Did you best Lurien in this fight?"

Haldir considered the question carefully. "No, my lady. I would say the fight was even. Lurien fought well. He is a worthy opponent."

"He challenged you? Or you challenged him?"

"We challenged each other. We share the guilt."

"Did you intend to slay him?" she asked.

"No," Haldir said evenly, glancing at Lurien. "But it could have happened. I was very angry. Either of us could easily have died."

Galadriel transferred her gaze back to Lurien. "It has not escaped my notice that you have sought to make things difficult for Elanor since the day she arrived. I said nothing to you about this because I thought she had adequate protection and because I did not think you would carry it this far. I also knew that Tarwë was the best person to reach you and teach you. You would have done my bidding, but learned nothing from it, whereas Tarwë's love and loyalty could have taught you a great deal and helped you grow wiser. Yet you did not choose that path. You chose to hurt the one who loves you most, along with Haldir . . . and Elanor."

Lurien said nothing, but his face was now ashen.

Galadriel's expression was calm, but something implacable glinted in her eyes. "Is there any other misdeed you would care to confess, Lurien? If so, now is the time for it."

Lurien swallowed hard. "I read Elanor's letters from her family. I tried to blackmail Elanor into leaving Lórien . . . and Haldir."

Haldir looked at him in astonishment. "You did _what?"_ he snapped, without thinking.

"I was looking for another means to wound," Lurien went on stolidly, his gaze remaining on Galadriel. "I regret it now. It was wrong."

Haldir stared at the sentinel, stunned by Lurien's lack of scruples.

Galadriel looked long at Lurien, and then glanced back at Haldir. "Does either of you have anything further to say before the counsel discusses this?"

"I have nothing to add, my lady," Haldir replied, "except that Lurien did try to save her. We both did. We were not fast enough."

"The fault is mine," Lurien reiterated in a dull, stubborn voice. "I willingly accept any penalty you see fit to give me. My life is yours to do with as you will."

For a long moment Galadriel did not speak, but looked at each of them in turn, her intense gaze suggesting that she searched their hearts and minds once more. "You may both wait outside," she said finally. "You will be summoned again soon."

x

Lurien avoided looking at Haldir as they left the council chamber, but he was extremely conscious of him. Pretending indifference, he strolled around the flet with his back to Haldir, his stomach churning with terrible anxiety. All the numbness was gone, replaced by wild emotions, most of them disturbing and unpleasant. Mixed with these was his amazement at Haldir's words concerning himself. Haldir had not stooped to kicking him in the face when he was down, but had spoken fairly of him and his fighting skills. Despite everything, Lurien could not help respecting that.

He walked to the edge of the flet and looked down, imagining how it might feel to fall, to strike branches or edges of flets, to bounce off balconies or roofs while flailing frantically for something to stop it all from happening. He imagined the ghastly horror of it, and felt deeply ashamed and guilty. Poor little Elanor. The irony was that he had always liked her. What could he ever say to her now, assuming she ever woke up? How could he ever ask her to forgive him? He was a hateful, contemptible creature, no better than an Orc. He deserved death.

He should have listened to Tarwë. Why had he not?

He turned to look at Haldir, who stood rigidly facing away from him. Nearby two sentinels—his own friends—stood at attention, guarding the steps of the High Talan. Lurien suddenly longed to talk to Haldir, to offer some kind of apology, but he could not speak such words in front of the sentinels, nor did he know what words to speak.

Tarwë would have known, but she was not here with him.

And likely never would be again.

x

"Haldir, Marchwarden of Lórien, it is my will and the will of the council that as of this moment Elanor ceases to be your ward." Galadriel's sapphire eyes held Haldir's captive as she continued, "She will no longer serve you, but will complete her year and a day of service as my own ward and one of my ladies. I will have her belongings removed from your talan and placed into one of her own. This decision takes into account Elanor's expressed desire to remain in Lórien rather than return with Elrond to Imladris. She is hereby extended the right to live here among the Silvan elves for as long as she wishes."

Haldir had been braced for something worse than this, but it was still a shock, and he barely prevented that shock from showing in his face. He could feel the eyes of the council members watching him closely.

"You have recovered from your injuries," the Lady went on. "Your absence from our borders grows lengthy and your wardens desire to see you among them once more. However, I am mindful of your long and selfless service to our land, and I am merciful. Therefore, if you so choose, I grant you leave to stay on in Caras Galadhon until Elanor's condition is resolved. Or you may return to the Fences at once. It is your choice."

Haldir hesitated. What did she expect him to do? His heart cried out that he must stay with Elanor, yet she was implying that he was shirking his duty. Or was she? He forced himself to gaze directly into her eyes, and in those eyes he saw only compassion.

"By your leave, my lady," he answered, speaking stiffly because of his intense emotion, "I would choose to stay with Elanor a while longer. It would tear out my heart to leave her when she is . . . as she is." An image rose in his mind of Elanor's face as she had looked when he had left her--so beautiful, so beloved to him . . . so still and silent.

Galadriel inclined her head. "So be it. I will not force you to abandon her when your heart holds such grief and fear. I foresee that your presence will help her to heal. I give you leave to see her as often as you wish when you are unoccupied with guarding our borders, for I know she is very dear to you."

She turned to Lurien. "Lurien, Sentinel of Lórien, I have watched the dark shadows creep into your heart for a very long time, but I hoped you would find the strength to defeat them. The eager young ellon who joined my guard so long ago has been lost, yet somewhere within the darkness I hold faith that he can be found again." She reached out to lift Lurien's chin with the tips of her fingers. "Because you have admitted your crimes and have asked for no mercy, the council and I have agreed that you should be given one last chance. Use it well."

"M-my lady," Lurien stammered, clearly overcome. "I do not deserve—"

She held up a hand. "I have looked into your heart and seen your potential for change. Light still glimmers inside you, my sentinel, even if you are unaware of it. Therefore on this day we grant you the opportunity to redeem yourself. Look deeply within your heart and find new meaning in each day. Once you understand the capacity for good that lies within you, you may come to me and speak of it. Until then I relieve you of your duties as my sentinel. Your sword lies in my chambers, and there it will stay until you have earned the right to wear it once more. In the meanwhile, it is up to you to find new ways to make yourself useful to our people."

Looking shocked, Lurien shuddered visibly and then bowed deeply to Galadriel. "Thank you, my lady. I will endeavor to prove myself worthy once more."

"But understand this," Galadriel continued, speaking to both of them. "If I were not so merciful, I would take both your swords for what you have done. By my command, this feud ends today . . . or next time there will be no mercy."

x

Haldir sat by Elanor's bedside throughout the long hours of the night, watching her face for the tiniest hint of alertness. Healea occasionally slipped in to monitor Elanor's progress or offer him a drink, but the rest of the time she waited outside to give him privacy with Elanor. Twice, the healers came and went. Elrond also came twice. Rúmil visited once with Nerwen, and Orophin came by a little later with Doria. None of them stayed long, for they all knew he wished to be alone with Elanor.

"Wake up," he whispered, every so often. "I am here, Elanor. I will not leave you."

She did not stir, and the hours passed.

He recited love poetry to her.

He sang, very softly, near her ear.

He held her hand.

Once he could have sworn he saw her eyelids flutter. "Elanor," he said urgently. "Can you hear me? If you can hear me, move your fingers or . . . do something."

She did not move.

He sang another song to her, one of love and passion so powerful that if she had been able to hear, he knew she would have let him know.

"I love you," he murmured, over and over. "I love you. Wake up for me, darling. If you wake up, I promise . . . " He stopped, not knowing what he meant to say. "I promise to be your husband," he said at last. "If you will have me."

Near morning, her eyelids fluttered again.

He pressed her fingers. "Can you hear me? I am here, Elanor, my dearest love."

Her fingers twitched.

"You hear me," he whispered with relief. "Thank the Valar."

Her lips moved slightly, and he bent closer, straining to hear.

"Where are you?" she murmured, very faintly.

"I am here," he soothed. "I am holding your hand. Can you feel me?"

"Yes, I feel you," she said with relief. "Do not leave me."

"I will not," he said. "My heart never will."

x

To be continued . . . FEEDBACK APPRECIATED!

fëa – the elf's spirit, the part that continues after the body (Hroa) has been killed. The fëa is the part that goes to the Halls of Mandos.


	32. Chapter ThirtyTwo

A/N: Feedback very much appreciated, it will help us keep going and finish this story! Sorry it has been so long, and we hope you are still with us here. We will try to get the next chapter out very quickly. Thank you so much to all you wonderful people who have left feedback, reviews, and inquires.

Yes, the story WILL be finished. And then I'm starting another one, which is actually already started but not posted. Please consider joining our Yahoo group since there is a chance I will not post my next story on fanfiction . net. It may be too hot for this site. Not sure yet, but it will be another Haldir fic, with another elleth. It is called _Mari's Song_. Fianna also has many stories that are not posted here that can be found in Files on our Yahoo site.

xxx

**Chapter Thirty-Two**

Dreams tormented Elanor's sleep--dreams of falling, dreams of endless darkness, dreams of Haldir's hand floating just beyond reach. Scattered between these was the memory of his face at the moment he'd seen her with Lurien. And then her dreams would turn dark, replete with images of Haldir's face filled with disdain and contempt for her betrayal. With the force of a white hot iron, that instant of shock and fury had branded itself into her brain, stabbing at her heart, haunting her and causing unbearable pain.

Between these dreams there were moments when she felt awake and saw him near her, holding her hand or leaning down to kiss her cheek. In these moments she tried to tell him that she had not betrayed him, but somehow her mouth was never able to form the words; speaking was difficult and she was so very tired. And she never really knew if his being there was only just another dream.

Then came the moment, finally, when she opened her eyes and saw the bright light of morning filtering through the nearby window. She blinked and lay unmoving, trying to take it in that her surroundings were real, and that she was really awake and alive. Her memories were vague, like a series of disconnected images from some long ago dream. Lurien . . . the fight . . . falling . . .

"Do not try to speak," directed a familiar, authoritative voice. "Drink this first." A cup touched her lips, and when a few drops flowed into her mouth, Elanor recognized it as the same healing draught she had given to Haldir not so long ago. She lifted her gaze, and saw Haldir's unsmiling eyes locked with hers.

All at once her memories were sharp and crystal clear. "Haldir, I did not . . ." Her voice cracked, and she stopped and swallowed in an effort to sound more normal.

"Hush, Elanor, this can wait." His face was calm and his eyes gentle, showing no signs of the anger he must be feeling.

"No . . . must tell you," she insisted. "Important." A tiny sob rose in her throat, and she felt his fingers press into her hand.

"What is it?" he asked her gently.

"Lurien," she whispered. "I did not . . . invite him. He just walked in and I was already . . . I told him to leave, but he did not . . ." Her voice quavered with distress. "I love _you_, Haldir, and I would never, ever . . ." Emotion broke her voice, choking off the rest of what she wished to say.

Haldir tightened his grip on her fingers. "Rest easy, Elanor. I am aware that it was not by your choice that he was there. I do not blame you." His voice was quiet, devoid of inflections that might have told her what his true thoughts were.

"I saw . . . your face," she said desolately. "You _did_ think it, I know you did, and I am so very s-sorry . . . I never meant . . . "

Haldir leaned closer, his gray eyes holding hers almost forcefully. "Elanor, hearken to me. I admit it was a shock, but it took me no more than an instant to understand." Husky emotion crept into his voice. "My love, it is I who should beg _your_ forgiveness. I should never have--" He broke off abruptly as someone entered the talan. "She is awake." His voice had returned to a more neutral tone.

Elanor turned her head and saw Healea moving to stand beside the bed opposite Haldir. "How do you feel, Elanor?" Healea asked solicitously.

Elanor's vision swam, her head throbbed, and her chest felt like she has been thrown from a racing horse onto a mass of sharp rocks, but all she said was, "Thirsty. And . . . I hurt."

Healea nodded. "That is to be expected. You fell, and your shoulder was injured. So were your ribs." Her blue eyes moved to Haldir, then returned to Elanor's face. "Drink more of the healing draught, my friend. It will soothe your pain and help you sleep. But first . . ." Healea moved to the foot of the bed and lifted the blankets that covered Elanor's feet. "Can you move your toes?"

Elanor obligingly wiggled her toes.

"Very good." Relief tinged Healea's voice, and Elanor noticed the look Cothion's wife exchanged with Haldir. It dawned on her at that moment that they had both been quite worried, but before she could consider the implications, Healea tucked the blanket back around her feet, and Haldir again held the cup to her lips.

His velvet voice instructed Elanor to drink as much as she could, and when she did, she could feel herself falling . . . softly this time, floating lightly into a sheltered place where he could not follow, a place where the soothing darkness cradled her in a way that helped her find peace. It was safe to let go. Haldir was safe, he was not angry with her, and she could rest.

xxx

Túre led Telrion along a path through the Golden Woods of Lórien, her fingers adoringly wrapped around his in a protective way that made him smile. Every so often he bent to kiss her, or nuzzle his lips against her neck or ear, savoring the sweet sounds of her laughter and contented sighs.

They had left the city the afternoon before, taken a picnic lunch and a blanket to a remote location near a peaceful, babbling stream. They had spent the entire night there, making love and whispering to each other, allowing their impassioned senses free rein to drink in the magic of each other and the surrounding forest.

Now they were headed back, and Telrion's heart brimmed with happiness, for he was very much in love. It was a lengthy walk and thoroughly enjoyable, but by mid-morning they reached the gates of Caras Galadhon. Glowing with contentment, they strolled past the guards and continued along the path leading to the stairway that would take them to Túre's talan. They had not gone far, however, when Minden stepped in front of them, accosting them with the words, "And where have you been? I've been looking for you everywhere!"

Telrion gazed in surprise at his cousin, who stood a step above them on the curving staircase, and was about to make a flippant remark when he noticed the tension in Minden's face. "Why?" he said sharply. "What has happened?"

"It is Elanor," Minden replied.

As Minden described what had transpired during the hours they had been gone, Telrion heard Túre gasp and felt the color drain from his own face.

"These accursed Lórien elves!" he exploded, forgetting for the moment that he was in love with one of them. "I knew sending her away with Haldir was a mistake! And now look what he has done!" Anger thrummed in his blood, racing alongside his guilt for not having been here when it happened. If he had been, perchance he could have protected her. "Where is he?" he snapped out, dimly aware of Túre's fingers tightening on his arm.

"The blame is not Haldir's," Minden said. "At least not entirely. From what I have been able to determine, it is the Sentinel, Lurien, who is most at fault. He planned it. He used our little Ellie as bait to draw the Marchwarden into a fight."

"Then I will kill them both! Tear them limb to limb and feed them to the Orcs!"

"No," Minden said emphatically. "You will do no such thing. Pick a fight, cousin, and you will only get us both thrown out of Lórien, or worse! Set aside your anger. Go and visit Elanor. I have heard she wakened briefly."

"Have you seen her?" Túre put in softly.

Minden shook his head. "For a while during the night I stood near where she lay, but . . . I heard Haldir singing to her. I, too, was angry, but I could not go in. My anger has faded, as I hope yours will also. He cares for her, Tel, perhaps even more than we do."

"Then he chooses a strange way to show it," Telrion fired back. He glanced down at Túre, and saw such concern in her wide blue eyes that he softened at once, and tempered his voice. "Will you show me the way, my love?"

"Of course I will." Túre looked at Minden. "She is in the main healing talan? The one where they took Haldir?"

Minden nodded tiredly. "Shall I come too? Or would you rather go without me?"

Telrion saw the strain and worry in his cousin's face, and knew that Minden hurt as much as he did. "Come with us, Min. You love Ellie just as I do. We three will go together."

It did not take them long to reach the talan where Elanor lay. Still angry, Telrion entered first, stalking boldly through the doorway without so much as a courtesy knock. Inside, he found Haldir, but also the two Lórien healers whom Telrion had come to recognize, as well as the cold and beautiful Healea. The healers were examining Elanor, and although Haldir moved quickly to intercept him and block his view, he was not quite quick enough to prevent Telrion from seeing far more of Elanor than he wished.

"I will speak to you outside," Haldir informed him frostily.

Regretting his brash entrance, Telrion nodded and retreated back to where Túre and Minden waited. Even so, Telrion made no apology when he addressed the silver-haired Lórien elf. "How badly is she injured?" he demanded without preamble.

Haldir's gaze drilled into him. "That is difficult to say. She woke briefly this morning, and was given more of the healing draught. Now she sleeps."

"Did she speak?" The question came from Minden.

Haldir shifted his gaze, observing Telrion's cousin with the same lack of expression. "She spoke, yes. And she was able to move her toes, which means there is no question of paralysis. She will heal."

Paralysis. The very word sent a fresh shot of fury through Telrion. "No thanks to you!" he burst out wrathfully. "You were supposed to be her guardian, her protector! Instead, you cause her injury! What have you to say for yourself, Marchwarden? How do you justify this?"

"I do not justify it," Haldir said evenly. "I regret it very much."

This failed to satisfy Telrion. "A fine guardian you are," he scoffed. "She tells me she loves you, but clearly you do not deserve her. You Lórien elves are a bloodthirsty lot. Elanor would be far safer in Imladris, where things are civilized."

"Elanor's heart is in Lórien. It is her choice to stay." Haldir paused for an instant. "And I am no longer her guardian."

"Oh?" Telrion lifted a brow in unconscious imitation of Haldir himself.

Haldir stared back at him. "Galadriel is Elanor's guardian until her year of service is finished."

"A wise decision," Telrion said icily, though he was faintly startled by the news. He was about to add something insulting to Haldir when he felt Túre touch his hand, which had the curious effect of making him bite back what he'd been about to say.

"Can you tell us what Elanor said when she awoke?" Túre asked rather timidly. "Was she is a great deal of pain?" Telrion realized with surprise that his love must be unused to addressing Haldir and indeed seemed a bit intimidated by the haughty Marchwarden.

"I am sorry, but her words were for my ears alone." Haldir's voice was courteous and gentler than when he had spoken to Telrion. "She had some anxiety that I was able to ease. Now, she sleeps peacefully."

"I am glad," Túre said simply.

"When may we see her?" Minden asked.

Haldir's cool gaze rested on the other ellon. "When the healers are gone. You are free to wait, if you like."

"We will do that," Telrion grated.

xxx

When the healers finally left, Haldir accompanied Túre and the two Imladris Elves into the healing talan and left them with Healea, who remained at Elanor's side. It was the first time he had left Elanor since the counsel meeting, but he thought it best to allow Elanor's visitors a chance to see her without him being present. He would not leave her long, of course, but he welcomed the opportunity to stretch his legs while he continued to contemplate the relief and guilt mingling inside him. He hoped for solitude.

However, this was not to be, for he had just set foot upon the forest floor when he heard himself being hailed. Turning reluctantly, he found the sons of Elrond striding toward him, one slightly ahead of the other, yet moving in the same fluid rhythm and pace.

"Marchwarden," repeated one of them. Haldir thought it was Elladan.

Haldir stood unmoving, waiting patiently but without much interest in what they had to say. They came to a halt in front of him, their handsome faces solemn.

"We come to offer our condolences," Elrohir said seriously. "Elanor's injury is most unfortunate, and it is obvious you suffer with her."

Haldir bent his head and touched his heart in brief acknowledgement.

"We also bring a message," Elladan added.

"What is it?"

"Our father desires to speak with you. He requests that you attend him in his talan."

"At once?" Haldir lifted a brow.

Elladan smiled faintly. "At your convenience, of course." He studied Haldir for a moment. "I witnessed the latter part of that fight," he remarked. "If we are ever in battle together, I hope we fight on the same side."

"Let us hope we are never in battle," Haldir said, a bit shortly.

Elladan inclined his head while Elrohir tacked on, "Either I or my brother would be happy to spar with you if you've a mind for some exercise. We find you a worthy opponent."

"I am honored," Haldir said, with very slight irony, "but this is not the time for that. I will return to Elanor very soon."

"I appreciate that, Marchwarden," Elrohir said amiably. "But we are at your disposal if and when you change your mind."

Haldir nodded and walked off, heading back up the long flight of steps to Elrond's talan. Reaching it, he rapped lightly and was bidden to enter.

"Haldir," Elrond said in greeting. He rose from his chair and nodded somberly in response to Haldir's bow. Without asking, he walked to a nearby table and poured them each a glass of wine, then handed one of them to his guest.

Haldir accepted it without comment.

"I find there are one or two matters I wish to discuss with you. Concerning Elanor, that is."

"What are they?" Haldir sipped his wine, his expression guarded.

Elrond returned to his chair and sat, gesturing with his hand to a second chair situated a short distance away. Haldir seated himself, inwardly braced for some kind of lecture or rebuke.

"Where Elanor is concerned, I am under a sense of obligation to her parents. I allowed her to travel here to Lothlórien without their knowledge, and her parents have taken the trouble to inform me that they were not pleased. Be that as it may, they accepted my claim that their daughter was safe and in good hands, and had been given a rare opportunity to learn and grow in a new environment, one that would be beneficial to her on many fronts. This, they accepted."

Haldir contemplated the other elf, waiting calmly to see where this was going, although he suspected he knew.

"I am sure you will understand when I say I feel compelled to inform her parents of this mishap." The words were spoken levelly, but with an underlying suggestion of apology.

"I understand," Haldir agreed, steeling himself not to object. "It is their right to know."

Elrond's brows lifted. "What would you have me tell them?"

"Tell them the truth, my lord," Haldir said. "Tell them I failed to protect her." To his own ears, the words sounded hollow and flat.

"I do not care to phrase it just like that. You were defending her." Elrond took a swallow of his wine and set it down on the table beside him. "I understand more than you think, Haldir. The Indwaedh's power is strong, I know it well. You are a guardian by temperament and circumstance. And though I deprecate the use of unnecessary violence, I will tell you frankly that had I found Celebrían in such a situation, I would have done the same as you. Does that surprise you?"

Haldir considered his answer. "With equal frankness I will say that it does not, but it surprises me that you would tell me so."

Elrond looked at him. "I sense how you suffer, how you blame yourself, but this does no good." When Haldir made no reply, Elrond sighed and added, "I am sending my sons on to Thranduil's land with correspondence on various matters. Lady Galadriel will be sending several Lórien elves with them as part of their guard. Has Elanor replied to the letters she received from her family? If so, I can send her reply along with my own correspondence."

"To my knowledge she has not."

"I see." Elrond tapped his fingers on the arm of his chair. "Very well, then, that is all. My sons leave tomorrow at first light. If you wish them to carry any messages, please be sure you let them know."

xxx

Lurien paced back and forth in his talan, restlessness surging through him in waves of melancholy and despair. He needed to talk to someone, but not Tarwë. Not yet.

Never in his life had he felt as alone as he did at this moment. Foolishly, he had believed that if he took action, if he fought Haldir, all would resolve itself somehow and the terrible emotions that churned inside of him would somehow be appeased. Instead, he only felt worse. He had not known that it was even possible to feel like this, as though his very fëa was being consumed by something so monstrous, so terrible, that he would never escape.

He was no longer a Sentinel of Lórien. He had no task, no rank, no place.

Unable to bear another instant of solitude, he headed to the door and stepped outside, gazing around almost furtively to see if anyone lingered near. He saw no one, not even one of his sentinel friends. He felt abandoned. Slowly, almost jerkily, he began to walk, not knowing where he meant to go, only wanting to see others and know how they would react to him.

He paused on the first open flet he found, walking to the edge to peer downward. Below, he saw a group of ellyn gathered together on someone's terrace. Their laughter floated upwards on the breeze to his ears. Were they talking about him?

He was no longer a Sentinel of Lórien.

He shoved the thought aside and continued walking, wandering along to see which elves would meet his eyes and which would turn away. A few looked at him and nodded, but others looked and did not nod. No one spoke to him, but no one turned away either. Perhaps they did not see him. The morbid thought came to him that he was already dead, and he glanced down quickly to assure himself he had not faded.

Eventually he found himself on the steps leading to the healing talan where Elanor lay. As if in slow motion he walked toward them. He wanted to apologize to Elanor.

He reached the talan just as the door opened and the two Imladris elves stepped out, along with the elleth Túre. The two of them looked at him blankly, not knowing who he was of course. Lurien turned on his heel and walked away. Why should they know him? He was nothing to them, only another Lórien elf, one of many.

He was nothing to anyone any more.

xxx

Rúmil walked into the blacksmith's clearing, ducked under a low-hanging branch from which one of the smiths had hung several swords, and greeted several elves who were laboring intently on their work. One long trestle table held an array of weaponry and armor while a second displayed a collection of delicate jewelry, belt buckles and other small items. On the edge of the clearing, a large stone forge glowed red, roaring into flame whenever one of the smiths opened the door.

Rúmil grinned as the elf he was seeking lifted his head and caught sight of him, hailing him with a gesture to wait as he finished a bit of decorative enamel work on a silver cloak pin. Rúmil made his way to Thórion's side, watching his friend as he skillfully completed the final detailing. Once done, he set the pin aside and turned to Rúmil.

"How can you tolerate this heat and noise?" Rúmil shouted, his sensitive ears ringing from the clangs of nearby hammers.

"Easily! I like it!" With a grin that lit his handsome face, Thórion caught hold of Rúmil's shoulder and guided him further from the sound.

Once they had reached a clearing some distance down the path, Rúmil turned and clasped his friend's shoulders, shaking Thórion a bit. "Thórion, you scoundrel, why have you been hiding from me? I have not seen you in weeks!"

"Hiding? Ha!" Thórion laughed. "I will have you know I've attempted on quite a few occasions to locate and include you in one of our little gatherings. But you are never available. It seems the most eligible ellon in Lórien is too smitten by an elleth to spend time with his friends."

Rúmil lifted a brow, attempting to look innocent. "Come now, I am often smitten by ellith. What can you mean?"

Thórion stepped back with a rueful shake of his head. "Not even a good try, Rúmil. How many weeks has it been since I heard you singing that bawdy song on one fair elleth's roof? That I might have dismissed, but late report tells me you've been sighted holding hands with the very same elleth." He cocked an eyebrow. "Your arm around a pretty waist is nothing new, but holding hands in public? Aye, my friend, you are smitten." He clutched his heart, feigning a mortal wound, complete with horrid grimaces.

Rúmil rolled his eyes, his lips twitching at his friend's antics. "Then I may as well make a clean breast of it. Aye, Thórion, I am indeed smitten in a way that I have never been before. And that is why I am here. I have need of your skills."

Thórion searched Rúmil's face, then pulled off his leather apron and tossed it over a nearby branch. "If that is what I think it means, then we need something to drink. Come, follow me. We need a quiet place where we can sit."

Rúmil followed Thórion along the path leading to the clearing where refreshments for the smiths were kept on hand beneath a small, colorful awning. Rúmil swung a leg over one of the benches while Thórion poured wine and pulled cheese and bread from a cloth-covered basket, setting them on a plate. He handed Rúmil a wine goblet and sat, placing the plate on the bench between them.

"So what is it that you would have me make for you?" Thórion asked.

Rúmil sipped his wine and helped himself to half the cheese. "Well now, let me explain. I admire your skill tremendously, but . . . I wish to craft this item with my own hands. I am hoping you will teach me how."

Eyes twinkling, Thórion swallowed wine and set the goblet aside. "As if I could say 'no' to you. What do you wish to make?"

"A silver ring."

Clearly surprised, Thórion peered at him intently. "A silver ring?" he repeated. "Do you mean a betrothal ring?"

"Exactly." With a nonchalant air, Rúmil withdrew a rolled piece of parchment from his belt. "Take a look at these sketches. What do you think?"

Thórion stared at Rúmil, then turned his gaze to Rúmil's handiwork, studying the drawings closely while rubbing his lips with his fingers. "And I thought you favored the sword and bow," he said after a short silence. "These are exquisite. You waste your talents fighting Orcs."

"Ah, but I like fighting Orcs," Rúmil said, smiling lazily. "Far better than I like the noise and fires of a smithy. Still, I am smitten as you say, and aspire to make a ring for my lady love. Will you teach me?"

Thórion threw back his head and laughed. "Sure enough, I will. But first, explain one thing to me. Since when has Rúmil, fierce warden of Lothlórien and lover of so many ellith, fallen so far as to limit himself to only one maiden?

Rúmil sighed. "Come now, you are married, so I know you know of what I speak. Truly, I have never felt so happy as I do right now. But please, I beseech you, speak not of this to anyone. I wish the ring to be a surprise and would have none know of it."

Thórion nodded thoughtfully. "As you wish, my friend. We will do this together."

xxx

Tarwë sat on the little terrace of her talan with her hands clasped firmly in her lap, staring out at the leaves, absently breathing in the crisp mingled scents of mid-autumn. She had not rested during the seemingly endless night, nor had she heard from Lurien throughout this long, bleak day. What he was doing, or thinking, or feeling, she had no idea and could not fathom. All she knew was that he was no longer a Sentinel of Lórien. Stripped of his rank, his sword withheld from him, he now had no place or position. How that must hurt him . . . and how very little she was able to care. He deserved it.

Did this mean that her heart had died? Was her love for him gone? And if so, was there any reason for her to remain in Lórien? Where would she go if she left? She felt no call from the sea, no urge to sail away into the West. This was her home, and yet she felt homeless, without place, locked in silent battle with something deep within herself.

She could no longer cry, that was the problem. She was absolutely and totally dead to all feeling. Yet beneath the numbness, rivulets of despair still trickled like water threading its way through rock, surprising her every so often with an unexpected painful nudge. And she knew she had a decision to make, one that would impact the rest of her eternal life.

It was at this precise moment that she heard the telltale click of her talan door opening. Her senses leaped in the old familiar pattern, telling her exactly who it was. She felt rather than heard him cross the floor, and then the terrace door swung wide, and there he was, a tall and lonely looking figure in the rapidly growing dusk.

"Tarwë," he breathed, so softly she could barely hear.

She lifted her head. He looked the same and yet different, for his blue eyes held a haunted look that had never been there before, as though he had gained vast knowledge he had previously lacked. Too late, she thought. Too late.

"Hello, Lurien," she said indifferently. At least it felt like indifference.

With his usual grace, he crossed the short distance between them and stood looking down at her. "May I sit?" The question actually sounded humble.

Tarwë lifted a shoulder. "If you like."

He filled the empty place beside her on the bench, but did not look at her or move too close. "I suppose you heard," he said finally, breaking the thick silence.

Tarwë inclined her head, her gaze on her still hands lying folded in her lap.

She felt him glance her way. "Do you have any suggestions?"

The words echoed in her brain, reverberating off every memory she had of the many times she had given him advice. Without thinking, she surged to her feet and struck him as hard as she could across the face.

He flinched, but said nothing. His blue eyes stayed steady on hers.

Breathing hard, Tarwë stared at the red welt upon his cheek, and then lifted her hand and struck him again. He allowed it. The third time he caught hold of her wrist. "If this does us any good, I am willing to let it continue," he said quietly, "but I do not see the good in it."

"I am angry, Lurien," she said tautly, with a shocking thread of viciousness. "And it feels good."

He released her wrist. "I imagine it does. Go ahead then. Strike me as much as you please until you tire of it. Then we will talk."

Appalled at herself, Tarwë thrust her hands behind her back and shook her head. "I am finished, Lurien. Finished with you. I do not wish to talk." But at least she could feel again, she almost added.

He gazed at her with deep and obvious pain. "No. No, I love you, we must talk. You are all I have left."

"Then you have nothing," she said flatly. "You do not have me. You have lost me, Lurien. Lost me because of your foolishness. Did I not tell you to let it all go? Did I not . . . " Her voice fluctuated, caught in an unexpected snare of emotion. "How _could_ you?" she said, almost inaudibly. "How could you risk my love for this?"

"I readily admit I was a fool. But you have always loved me, Tarwë, and I still love you. I know you are angry, but our love can survive this."

"You are so sure," she said bitterly. "But I am not."

"You cannot forgive me?" He wore the strangest expression on his face, as though he had never seen her before, and could not quite believe that she was real.

"I do not know." Her voice was even. "I need time to answer that."

He bowed his head. A long silence ensued before he spoke again. "Will you let me stay with you tonight?" he asked in a quiet voice.

She turned her head to look at him, wondering if he had lost his mind. "You can stay out here on the terrace," she said coldly. "You may not touch me, Lurien. Not tonight, nor for a long time to come. Perhaps never. You have much to rebuild. You have destroyed nearly everything."

"Tarwë," he breathed. He looked stricken, but to her surprise he did not argue.

She rose, gazing down at him with churning emotions. He looked the same as always, smolderingly handsome and perfect, but at the same time there was a shadowed, gaunt look about his cheeks. Could she truly leave him? She did not know.

Time would tell.

xxx

Lurien left Tarwë's talan with her words echoing in his ears. If anything, his torture had increased, but he was glad she had struck him. He knew she had needed to, and he wished to give her what she needed.

He stood in the dark for a few moments, debating his next move, when he heard a voice call to him. In his head.

"My lady," he whispered.

She spoke again, a gentle and soothing ripple of emotion and thought that drew him down the steps, turn after turn, taking him closer to the ground, guiding him inexorably along the paths of Caras Galadhon toward the Lady's garden. When was the last time he had spoken to her there? Many years had passed since then.

He came upon her in the glade that harbored her mirror, and for a moment and with some trepidation he wondered whether she meant for him to gaze into its waters. If given a choice, he would decline. To see his own future or past would be unbearable just now. Instead, he focused on her tall and regal form, so beautifully adorned in a crystalline white fabric that glimmered in the starlight, reflecting the mysteries of the distant skies. Her golden hair hung past her hips, rippling like a waterfall in the night, and even this was filled with light. In short, she was revealing herself to him in a way that she did not often do, allowing him to see the fullness of the light of the Two Trees that lingered on within her aura.

"My lady," he murmured, awed in spite of himself, in spite of all the times he had seen her, or spoken to her. A long time ago he had sworn his fealty to her. He had sworn an oath to protect her, her city, and its inhabitants, and the realization of how he had failed swept over him anew. He hung his head in shame.

She came to him then, and he felt her fingers lift his chin. "Lurien," she said, far more gently than she had in court, "you suffer so. I have asked myself why, but I have found no answer. It is as though throughout your life you have carried a sword whose only purpose is to turn its blade against yourself. You harm yourself by harming others, and by feeding the part of you that serves you ill."

He curled his fingers into his palms, a deep part of him shaking with some unnamed emotion. "I did not intend to slay Haldir, my lady. I swear it."

"I know it. That is why I still have hope for you."

"I am dishonored."

Her eyes held his, allowing him no respite. "You can regain that honor. In time, and with effort. All is not lost."

"How, my lady?" he asked, hardly daring to hope.

"By heeding your heart. By rebuilding trust. By honest labor and endeavor, with humility and resolve. Many will watch your actions, Lurien, and we elves have long memories. I will be one of those watching. But I have hope for you. Your parents were good elves. I see their light shining in your eyes. There is no evil in you."

He bowed his head, feeling her gaze still on him. He could think of nothing to say, but she did not seem to require him to speak.

"Remember my words," she added softly, "and take them into your heart." She left him standing in a pool of moonlight.

xxx

An intoxicating floral scent curled its way around Elanor's dreams, filling them with vibrant color, luring her senses toward awakening in a manner far more pleasant than the first time she had done so. Awareness crept in gradually, but she did not at once open her eyes, for the lovely fragrance still lingered at the fringes of her reverie and she was loath to leave it behind. Dimly she recalled that she was injured, and that with full consciousness would come pain. Even now it was becoming noticeable.

At last she forced her eyelids open, and even then it took a moment to take in what she was seeing. Flowers filled the healing talan. Plants in baskets hung suspended from the ceiling, neatly attached to the long wooden rods that crisscrossed their way above her head, connecting the soft, fluttering white fabric of the roof. Haldir still sat beside her, and she wonderingly turned her head in his direction, her amazed gaze traveling around and behind him as she noted the many places the plants had been nestled, tucked away on tiny tables and odd little shelves that cascaded down the sides of the talan. So many varieties and mingled scents, all brought here for . . . her? And by whom? Startled, she looked back at Haldir, who sat watching her calmly.

"Who did this?" Her voice cracked, her mouth and throat dry with thirst.

Haldir reached for a cup. "Doria organized it," he said, holding it to her lips. "Most of Lórien helped. Your love of flowers is well known. Drink, Elanor. "

Elanor took some of the draught, then looked around again as he set the cup aside. "So many," she said in amazement. "And so beautiful. I cannot quite believe . . . my goodness, Hírion must have been displeased."

"Indeed, he did mention rather loudly that they were very much in the way. However, he was told by several of your friends that you would benefit from flowers far more than from his presence. I am afraid he took some slight offense." Haldir's eyes glinted with amusement.

Absorbing this, Elanor looked around again and suddenly realized what she was seeing in a small clay pot on the table beside her. A single ninniach-loch plant bent toward her, its rainbow-tinted flowers spilling over the side and glowing with health.

"Haldir?" she whispered doubtfully. "How can this be?"

Haldir reached for her hand, rubbing his thumb across the backs of her fingers. "Galadriel's work," he replied. "Apparently the ninniach-loth took a liking to you. It has consented to visit as long as it is returned in due course to the glade where it belongs. It has taken a liking to our elanor plant also." Indeed, next to the ninniach-loch sat the elanor plant from Haldir's talan, and the two plants had intertwined their leaves as though they had formed some kind of bond.

Elanor moved her arm, thinking to reach out to touch the leaves, but was prevented by a sharp stab in her ribs. Haldir heard her gasp, and leaned closer. "Do not move, my love. You have much healing to do. I know how difficult it is, but you must do it."

Elanor lay still, searching his face as she recalled his reassurances regarding Lurien. That, at least, had not been a dream. And as she looked into the gray depths of his eyes, she could read no censure in them, none at all. He truly did not blame her for what had happened. And yet he still did not know the whole truth.

"Haldir," she said with difficulty. "I have something to confess."

"What is it, Elanor?" His tone revealed no hint of concern.

"I fear I have done something dreadful," she said feebly. Haldir said nothing, but his face remained composed. "It is about Lurien," she said in a subdued voice. "I fear you will be very angry."

"Elanor, you distress yourself without cause," he said imperturbably. "Everything to do with Lurien is in the past."

"You do not understand. He knows . . . what happened, back in my house in Imladris. He saw the letters from my family. I should have destroyed them, or hidden them in a better place."

Haldir shook his head. "Elanor--"

"He guessed," she cut in miserably. "I told him nothing, but he guessed, and my face gave it away. I am sorry, but I could not help it. He knows how shamefully I treated you. I was so horrified, I knew not what to say."

"Elanor, whatever he knows, or thinks he knows, he will keep silent about it. He has already admitted to the council that he read your letters, and that he tried to blackmail you into leaving me. No more than that was revealed."

Elanor stared at him, hardly able to believe. "He confessed? He said nothing at all . . . no hint of what I did to you?"

"No, Elanor," Haldir said gently. "And if he had, it would not concern me."

"Now, Haldir, you know that is not true. I am sure you would not want people to know that I had you tied to a bed unclothed."

Haldir reached out to smooth his fingers through her hair where it lay on the pillow. The corners of his mouth twitched wryly. "You are right, I would not like it at all. But if the truth came out, I would survive. I would rather that, than have you leave me." The last statement was spoken evenly, but with an undercurrent of emotion that spoke more loudly than words.

"Haldir, I will not leave you. I have told you this and it is true. I will stay with you as long as you wish, I swear it."

"Elanor, I must tell you something. You are no longer my ward."

"What?" Her heart skipped a beat. "Why? What has happened? Am I being sent away?" Tears filled her eyes, and she blinked rapidly, unable to lift an arm to wipe them away before he could see.

"Galadriel is your guardian now." His thumb touched the corner of her eye, stroking gently at the moisture.

"No," she protested, her voice almost inaudible. She searched his face, dismay surging within her, unheralded and powerful.

"All is well," Haldir soothed, stroking her cheek with his finger. "There is no cause to look like that. She will be kind to you."

"But why?" she asked fretfully.

"It is my punishment, and I count myself fortunate it is so lenient. Lurien did not fare as well." He paused. "He is no longer a sentinel of Lórien. They have taken his sword."

Elanor was shocked. "What will become of him? What will he do?"

"I do not know, Elanor. That will be Lurien's task to discover. My only concern is with you. I want you well again, healed completely, as I am."

"Is that all you want?" she asked, a smile trembling on her lips.

He smiled faintly in return. "Indeed not. But it is a good place to start." He reached again for the cup. "Drink a bit more. It will ease your pain."

"At least the taste is not foul," she remarked as he put the cup to her lips. She took another sip of the draught, and felt the warmth spread through her, alleviating a portion of her throbbing discomfort.

"Yes, I am kinder than you," he agreed with a gleam. "Thus far."

"Thus far?" she asked as he set the cup down. "Is that a subtle attempt to bully me?"

"I have no wish to bully you," Haldir said mildly. "You are far too apt to come back at me in some unexpected way. Even so, I will take measures to ensure you do all that is necessary for you to heal."

"Which means you will bully me," she remarked, and closed her eyes with a sigh.

"I want you to heal," he said. "I have plans for you."

She reopened her eyes. "Plans? What kind of plans?"

He smiled enigmatically. "You will see."

"Tell me now, Haldir."

He shook his head.

"Haldir," she pleaded.

"Elanor," he replied in a stubborn voice.

Their eyes locked for a long moment and then he said, "I do not feel it is the appropriate time to ask you the question I wish to ask. When you are well, and no longer anyone's ward, then I will say it. In a few weeks, your year of service will be finished. Then I will speak."

Elanor sighed. "Very well then, I will wait. I know what you want to ask me anyway."

He arched a brow. "Oh, you think so?"

"I do," she said with a tiny smile.

"In that case you will have ample time to ponder your answer." He tucked the blankets more firmly around her and rose to his feet. "Healea waits nearby. I promised I would fetch her when you woke."

"I only want you," Elanor murmured, "but do not tell her that."

He stood still, gazing down at her, and then he bent and kissed her, his face close to hers. "If I had lost you," he said huskily, "I do not know how I would have gone on. Can you ever forgive me for failing you?"

"There is nothing to forgive," she whispered. "You did not fail me. You never have." She smiled tremulously. "You have my love, Haldir. Never doubt that for a single moment."

They gazed deeply into each other's eyes, and then he kissed her tenderly on the lips. "You have my love also, Elanor. Now and forever."

xxx

"Túre," Telrion said quietly, after they had partaken of the evening meal together in her talan later that same day. "I have something to tell you."

She snuggled closer to him on his lap, her elbow resting on his shoulder while her fingers played with his smooth, dark hair. "What is it?" she murmured, pressing a kiss to the curve of his ear.

"I must leave you tomorrow," he said regretfully, "at first light."

Her entire body went stiff in his arms.

"What? Why?" He saw the shock in her face, and wished he could have given her more advanced warning of his departure.

"Lord Elrond has asked Minden and me to accompany his sons on their journey to Taur-e-Ndaedelos,Thranduil's realm," he explained, in an easy voice intended to make it sound like a trivial expedition. "We go along as part of the guard."

She gazed at him, her blue eyes filled with wretchedness. "You have no choice? No one else may go in your stead?"

He tucked a long strand of her hair behind her ear. "It is not a question of choice, my love. It is my duty to Lord Elrond. Minden and I are both skilled with sword and bow, and Lord Elrond's sons are dear to him. Several Lórien elves go with us, and if they are willing to risk danger, then how could I refuse, even if I were given that alternative?"

"But what of Elanor?" she asked plaintively. "How can he ask you to leave when she lies injured and unconscious? Are the two of you not like brother and sister?"

"Elanor is well tended, by Haldir and others. With time she will heal." Shoving aside his lingering anger at Haldir and the sentinel he had fought, Telrion drew Túre close to him. "You fear for me," he said gently, "but I will come back to you, I swear it. We will return safely, all of us. The journey should not be overlong."

"But it could be dangerous."

"Every journey we make can be risky, I will not lie to you about that. We may also encounter danger when I take you back to Imladris. But we are all well trained and far more intelligent and skilled than the creatures we fight. I am strong and able, as are those who travel with us. I am not as eager to encounter the enemy as some of the others, but I am willing to face them if need be. I swear to you I will come back to you, my little love."

A tear trickled from the corner of her eye. "I will hold you to that, Telrion. I cannot lose you. I could not bear it."

"You will not lose me," he soothed. "I am yours, and you are mine."

"We have had so few days together," she said with a watery smile.

"Thus far," he admitted, capturing her hand and bringing it to his lips. "But countless days lie ahead of us, my love. Days that we will have together."

She bowed her head. "I am sorry to be so cowardly. I will try to be strong. I will pray to the Valar for your safety."

"You are strong," he told her, rubbing his finger along the curve of her cheek. "You have always been strong. Do not doubt yourself so much."

She lifted her chin. "I wish we had more time before you have to leave."

"We have tonight," he said comfortingly, and drew her closer still.

xxx

The rope was light, the wood was not, but Lurien carried it without complaint, climbing the many stairs high into the upper reaches of Caras Galadhon in as many trips as he had taken in a month, pressed into a few short hours. The daylight was nearly gone by the time he reached the last step with the last load and placed it with the others.

He surveyed the stacks of planks, wrought of birch and pine, enough for the structure he envisaged in his mind. Days had passed since his conversation with Galadriel, days in which he had despondently pondered her words and his future. He had been unable to speak to Elanor, although he'd heard she was healing, and he had not attempted to approach Haldir. He did not yet know what he would say to either of them. He only knew he had to accept responsibility for all that he had done, and been, and felt, and thought.

And last night, suddenly, an idea had come to him.

Preoccupied with his thoughts, he crouched on his toes, idly looping a strand of hithlain around his hands as the last rays of the sun reached out to caress his face. A deep ache welled in his heart, an anguish so great that he shuddered. So much he had lost--his place, his rank, his sense of belonging, the trust and respect of those around him . . . and perhaps even Tarwë's love. Surprisingly, that cut the deepest.

Nevertheless, he had to go on, he had to find something to occupy his time and his mind . . . or the despair would eat him alive.

Years of attentiveness warned him that someone approached, but he did not bother to turn to look. He had passed many elves on his passage up and down the stairs, and although he'd received many curious looks, no one had asked him what he was doing or even greeted him. He did not expect to be addressed now, and was startled to hear a familiar voice.

"This appears to be a large project you are embarking on." Lord Celeborn's robes whispered behind him as he crossed the flet, his gaze scrutinizing the wood and rope before searching Lurien's face for an explanation.

Lurien rose and bowed deeply. "I have much to atone for, my lord. I thought to begin by building something new."

Celeborn studied the wood at his feet, his expression revealing neither reproof nor encouragement. "A promising response. What do you propose?"

Lurien forced himself to look at the flet across the way, at the exact place where Elanor had gone over the edge. Oddly, his horror over this occurrence had only increased with the passing of the days. Hiding this, he said, "I wish to build a bridge from here"—he pointed to the edge of the flet upon which they stood—"over to there." His gaze shifted to the opposite flet. "To the place where Elanor fell."

Celeborn was silent for a moment. "Why would you wish to do this?" he said at last.

Lurien drew a deep breath, willing himself to say the words. "It would serve as a reminder of the folly of anger and the madness of hatred. So that such deeds will never reoccur here in our beloved city." Simply speaking of it was a relief, he noticed.

"To do such a thing will prevent it from being forgotten," Celeborn pointed out.

"I do not want it forgotten, my lord. Only forgiven."

Celeborn's gaze probed intently, as if searching for hidden truths. "You show courage. This is truly what you wish to do?"

"It is, my lord," Lurien said firmly.

"Then bring me a drawing of what you intend. I must speak of this to Galadriel. I would have her counsel before you proceed."

Crestfallen, Lurien struggled to control his expression. "It did not cross my mind that you might not approve. Beyond the reminders of my folly, I thought a bridge in this location would add benefits to our people. I have assisted with other bridges and am versed in their construction. I will do this thing alone and do it well," he added sincerely.

Celeborn lifted a brow. "I do not doubt your ability, Lurien, but what you propose will have consequences beyond what you suggest. Not everyone will wish to be reminded of recent events. There may be those who will be offended by what you wish to do."

"Offended?" Lurien's heart sank. "Do you refer to Haldir and Elanor?" It had not occurred to him that anyone might take offense. All he desired was to make amends in some small way, and to contribute something of value . . . not to create more ill feeling.

"Haldir, Elanor, or others. When one hurls a stone into a pond, the ripples touch more than one shore." Celeborn turned to gaze at him, the depths of his blue eyes reminding Lurien of the many trials he had witnessed, events that Lurien had only heard about, or read. "Your reasons for wishing to build this bridge are to your credit, but we must consider whether the benefits are sufficient."

Lurien bowed his head. "Very well, my lord. I understand."

"If we do approve this bridge," Celeborn added, "have you the strength to see it through? It is no easy task to complete on one's own."

"I will do whatever I must to complete it."

Celeborn nodded thoughtfully. "Perhaps we were blind, Galadriel and I. We had hoped that you would rise above your hatred. We failed to understand the depth of your anger. We remembered a world torn asunder by the same antagonism, but I fear we have forgotten what it takes to rebuild a trust that has been lost."

Lurien waited a respectful moment before replying solemnly, "What is forgotten can be remembered. I will repair what has been broken, my lord. I must if I am to survive." He struggled to keep the anguish from his voice.

"Bring me your plan, Lurien. Galadriel and I will let you know our decision." With a single nod, the tall Elf-lord turned and disappeared into the shadows.

Lurien returned to his talan, determined to sketch out his idea this very eve. Sketching was not something he did well; the plan was in his head well enough, but could he draw sufficiently well to convince them? Soon, however, he had a simplistic drawing that seemed adequate. He thrummed his fingers on the table and stared at it, then added a detail he thought might make a difference.

He sat back and sighed, his heart still very heavy. Was it foolish to want to build something that would remind everyone in Lórien of such a horrible day? What would Haldir think? What of Elanor? He had a sudden wish that he could discuss it with them, but he could not.

The one time he had tried to approach the healing talan, Rúmil and Orophin had physically blocked him. Lurien had not argued, merely bowed and turned back, his pride in the dust . . . where it had been for many days.

He did not blame them for their anger. He deserved it.

Tarwë's dismissal of him came back sharply, lancing him with renewed misery. He had taken her for granted, he realized that now. All these long years he had known her, he had taken for granted her love, her support, her unfailing loyalty. And now he'd lost her.

His thoughts still on Tarwë, he rolled up the drawing and secured it with a slim strip of leather. Perhaps she would see him differently if he built this bridge. Perhaps she would find him honorable once more. Perhaps she would even love him again.

Slowly, he rose to his feet and walked to the window, staring out into the gathering dusk. He would regain respect. He would prove to Tarwë and everyone else that he had not fallen so low that he could not come back. Lothlórien was his home, one he loved dearly. He would guard her treasures and her people again, with a passion and love that surpassed any he'd ever known.

He would be the Sentinel he was meant to be.

xxx

To Be Continued . . .

(Taur-e-Ndaedelos -- Forest of Great Fear, a name given to Mirkwood during the period of time before Sauron's fall.)

xxx


	33. Chapter ThirtyThree

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Thank you to those of you who have been patiently waiting for an update to this story, and most especially to mommymage, Rana1, Gamine, Yue, Manwathiel, kmedh, dragonfly-maiden, artanisofavalon, Otisïana M., and the rest of you who have left kind and supportive messages. We appreciate you!

To TDI – My co-author and I are quite tired of your abusive messages, and if you are choosing to go away, that's fine with us. Obviously we are not writing this story to suit your personal timetable, but our own.

xxx

**Chapter Thirty-Three**

"I have you," Haldir said firmly. "You are safe."

Supported by Haldir, Elanor took her first tentative steps after being bedridden for over a week. It felt good to move again, even if she did feel wobbly from the healing draught, and her ribs still hurt quite a lot. At least her shoulder no longer throbbed, and the healers seemed satisfied that no danger existed of her ribs penetrating her lungs. Haldir's arm around her waist felt wonderful, and she longed to turn and wrap herself around him. Instead, she took another step toward the door.

"Soon you will be in your own talan," Haldir reiterated. "Galadriel selected it for you personally. I have seen it, Elanor. You will find it most comfortable."

"I want to be with you," she grumbled. "I do not want my own talan."

"You will do as the Lady bids. You are her ward now, and you owe her your allegiance."

"I know," she sighed, knowing she ought to feel more appreciation than she did.

"You have made me proud of you many times," Haldir reminded her in an authoritative tone, "and you will not fail me this time. You will accept Galadriel's guidance with suitable appreciation and respect."

"Bully," she muttered, beneath her breath. But she did not mean it, and she knew that he knew it. She could feel the ripple of his amusement through the indwaedh, although she could not share in it.

The moment they stepped outside, Doria, Nerwen and Healea came forward with smiles and greetings. Doria looked pale, but her smiles were nearly as sunny as always while she filled Elanor in on bits and pieces of news. Healea was herself--unflappable and elegant--but of late she had adopted a new and noticeable warmth toward Elanor that in anyone else might have been called motherly. As different as they were, the two ellith had formed a mutual bond of respect and liking that transcended any past friction or disparities of personality.

"Go on, Nerwen, tell her." Doria gave Nerwen a little nudge.

Elanor looked at Nerwen, noting the delicate blush creeping into her cheeks. "Tell me what?"

Nerwen glanced first at Haldir, then at Elanor. "Rúmil has asked me to marry him," she confided, her voice soft with joy. "And I have agreed."

Surprised and pleased, Elanor would have thrown her arms around Nerwen except for Haldir's restraining grip, a reminder that her ribs might not be ready for that. Haldir's own reaction was more restrained, making it clear that he had already known about the impending betrothal, but had left it to Nerwen to tell Elanor herself.

"I am so happy for you," Elanor said sincerely. "When is the betrothal ceremony?"

They discussed this for several moments, then Healea informed Haldir that Doria wished a few moments of his time. "Nerwen and I will gladly stay with Elanor while you are occupied," she said firmly.

Healea left no room for debate, but Haldir seemed not to object; he merely inclined his head and stepped away, gesturing to Doria to follow. She did so with her head held high, but Elanor guessed by her rigid bearing that certain matters weighed heavily on her mind. She looked a question at Healea, who said, "She wishes to discuss Lurien. He seeks to make amends, but I think it is too soon."

Elanor's face tightened. She still shuddered when she thought about Lurien, recalling all too clearly how he had leaned against the door of Haldir's talan and taunted her. Threatened her, really. Worse, she remembered every agonizing detail of the appalling, horrifying swordfight that could have cost Haldir his life . . . and had nearly cost her her own. Shivering involuntarily, she said nothing as she walked slowly along the pathway with a friend on either side of her, each with a protective hand on her arm.

"The question is, after what he has done, is forgiveness even possible?" Healea put forth, watching Elanor closely.

Elanor felt Nerwen's glance. "For Doria's sake, I hope so," she said, but Elanor remained silent, too filled with turbulent emotions to articulate any kind of response.

Healea exchanged a look with Nerwen, and to Elanor's relief, they redirected the conversation into happier channels.

Haldir, meanwhile, was having similar hostile emotions, although they were not aimed at the lovely elleth into whose face he gazed with what he knew to be an unfairly cool expression. "Did Lurien send you to say this?" he inquired.

Obviously distressed, Doria hung her head, her fingers twisting at the folds of her skirt. "N-no, and he would be very angry if he knew. Please do not tell my brother that I spoke to you!"

Haldir studied her, struggling to conceal how the mere mention of Lurien's name still filled him with unspeakable fury. And now she asked him to make the first move, to go to her brother and initiate a reconciliation. The mere idea rankled deeply.

"What do you expect me to say to him, Doria?"

"I do not know, but he . . . he is so alone right now. He will not let me comfort him. I fear that . . . " She faltered briefly before continuing in a shaky voice, "I fear that Tarwë no longer cares for him. That alone is like a knife in his heart. My own heart bleeds to see him like this."

"Lurien created his own troubles," Haldir pointed out without sympathy.

"I know," Doria said miserably, "I do know that. But I love him, Haldir. He is my brother, my family. Can you not understand? You would love your brothers no matter what they did, would you not?" Her eyes pleaded with his. "Can you not even try to forgive?"

Haldir turned from her and took a few steps back and forth before he swung around. "Elanor almost died," he said sternly. "I could have died. Lurien himself could have died. And I share the fault in that. I can hardly even forgive myself, Doria, much less Lurien. Do you not see that?"

She bit her lip and nodded, her eyes filled with sorrow. "I do see. I also know that he feels deeply at fault. His guilt torments him. He hardly eats or rests. I thought perhaps . . . you could ease each other's pain."

"Unlikely," Haldir shot back, then wished he had taken the trouble to gentle his voice when he saw the way she flinched. He swiped his palms over his face and sighed. "Forgive me, Doria. I am not angry with you."

She bowed her head. "No, it is I who should beg your forgiveness, Haldir. This is between you and my brother, and I should not have interfered. Thank you for your time. I will leave you in peace." She touched her heart and faded silently out of sight.

Haldir's lips thinned as he stared after her, annoyed beyond all reason, yet acknowledging that she was not the cause. With a low, aggravated sound, he spun around and headed for the nearest set of stairs. He knew what he had to do.

xxx

Lurien's head jerked up with the single rap on his talan door. He had had only two visitors this past week, one of which had been Lord Celeborn. The other had been his sister, who had come many times, sitting quietly with him for hours at a time. They had not spoken much, but Lurien had welcomed her company even though he had brushed aside her attempts to cheer him. He supposed she was back again, bringing more of her soup that he had little appetite to eat.

"Enter," he said wearily.

He glanced up idly as the door swung open, then went rigid when he saw who stood in the doorway.

"You," he said in stiff astonishment.

Haldir's face was iron smooth, washed of any clue that would have told Lurien his purpose for being there. His uninvited guest moved into the room and shut the door, his granite eyes as gray as the bleakest of winter days in the lands beyond the Lórien borders.

Lurien rose to his feet, planting his legs firmly apart in case Haldir attacked him, although he could not imagine him daring such a thing in light of Galadriel's warning. "You have gone out of your way to avoid me," he said tautly. "And now you come here. Why?"

Haldir also adopted a watchful stance. "Because it is time we spoke."

Lurien heard no rancor, but he was sure it was there, hidden beneath the surface. "Speak, then," he said, crossing his arms over his chest.

Haldir remained where he was, his expression forbidding and designed to intimidate. "I have little to say other than to ask you to stay away from Elanor when I return to Lórien's borders."

"Ask? Since when does the mighty Marchwarden ask anything of me?" Lurien sensed Haldir's frustration, and knew he had touched a nerve, yet curiously this did not give him the pleasure he might have expected.

Haldir shifted slightly. "As you know, I am no longer her guardian and cannot command on her behalf. However, I can promise some form of retribution if you cause her the least amount of distress. She is mine and always will be."

"And if I wish to apologize to her?"

"Stay away from her, Lurien."

"Ah, now you command. I did not think the civility would persist."

"She is not yet ready to hear your words." Haldir eyed him, adding in a rougher voice, "She is just starting to walk again. I thank the Valar she is still able."

It was these last words that did it. Despite his long-sustained animosity toward Haldir, despite all the jealousy and rage and resentment that he had nurtured throughout these long years, the harsh emotion in the other elf's voice pierced straight through something hard inside of Lurien, reminding him of his own agony and bringing him face to face with a part of himself he seldom saw. His own inner light had been dimmed of late, but still it burned, just as Galadriel had sought to show him. No true evil existed within him, and the realization was a relief beyond all possible measure. All this time, all these years, he had never known for absolute certain that he was not inherently wicked. It was, perhaps, his darkest fear, one he had struggled to hide from and to deny, as well as defy. And suddenly, with an almost comical lack of flamboyance, this modest understanding of himself had made itself known. Like an elfling who played with fire, he had flirted with wickedness, never quite certain that it was a thing apart, with a power of its own that could consume him--and nearly had.

"Please, come and sit down," Lurien said in a humbler tone. "I have a matter of my own that I wish to discuss." He was conscious of Haldir's drilling gaze, and then to his relief, the Marchwarden crossed over and took the chair he had indicated, the one recently occupied by Doria. Lurien took the other chair, and let out a deep breath, chagrinned to discover that he was nervous.

"I admit I did wrong," he said into the heavy stillness. "Many wrongs, in fact."

Silence.

"I deserve my punishment," he added with shame. "I know this and accept it."

More silence.

"But I am not a monster." Lurien felt himself flush at the jaggedness in his voice. He had betrayed himself now, just as Haldir had done, but it was too late for regrets. He leaned forward. "Look," he went on, "I have to live with what I have done. I regret it for many reasons, and not all of them are selfish. I can change."

"Is that what you intend?" Haldir asked, one skeptical eyebrow arched.

"Aye, of course!" Lurien flashed. "I must, I have no choice in the matter. Tarwë . . . it is the only way I can win her back. I love her." He flushed again, aware that Haldir had no interest in his confidences or sympathy for his plight. "I wish to make amends, not only to Tarwë, but to Elanor and . . . to you."

"How?" Oddly, Haldir's voice was not entirely mocking.

"Would you care for a glass of wine?" Lurien knew he was stalling, but he was finding it difficult to broach the subject he wished to address.

To his surprise, Haldir accepted the offer. Lurien rose and poured them each a glass, handing one to Haldir before he sat down again.

"I face a daunting task," he acknowledged, without style or flourish. "I must find a way to redeem myself to our people. It will take time, I know this. It may take centuries, even, but I intend to prove myself worthy of trust and honor."

His guest made no comment, but a glance his way reassured Lurien that Haldir was listening. A twinge of respect for the other elf asserted itself as he continued, "I had an idea, which I have discussed with Lord Celeborn. It is only a start, a small gesture meant to indicate my willingness to serve and be useful." He took a swallow of wine, wishing he were not so tense. "You may have seen the wood and rope that sits untended on the flet near where . . . near your talan."

"I have seen it," Haldir said calmly. "I was told that you put it there. What do you intend?"

"Our lord and lady have seen my plans," Lurien continued. "They have approved my proposal on one condition. I must have your agreement, as well as Elanor's."

Haldir's brows snapped together. "What do you intend?" he repeated.

Lurien set his goblet carefully upon the table and plunged into his explanation.

xxx

"You will do this for me?" Tarwë asked with an intense look. She curled her knees closer to her chest, leaning into the trunk of the mallorn tree as though she sought to become a part of it. But her attention was fixed on Gwirith.

Feeling uncomfortable, Gwirith plucked heedlessly at a blade of grass, then curled her fingers into her palms. "Yes, if you are certain."

"I am certain. 'Tis the only way I can be sure he speaks the truth."

Gwirith studied her friend, wishing she had not been put in this awkward position. It would have been an easy and pleasant thing to do before she had known the depth of Tarwë's feelings, but now . . . now it felt dishonorable and wrong. If the plan brought unhappy results, she would be the one who would have to tell Tarwë. And if not . . . how was she to handle it? Tarwë had not told her that, and Gwirith did not like to ask.

"Perhaps this seems like a low and wicked thing to do." Tarwë's voice was despondent and rather brittle. "But I must know, Gwirith. I no longer know what to believe, and I must know if he speaks the truth or if it is only more of his lies." She glanced at her friend. "My heart can only heal if I know the truth."

"When shall I do it?" Gwirith asked with sinking spirits.

Tarwë bit her lower lip and looked away. "Do it tonight," she finally whispered, "before I change my mind."

xxx

Haldir listened to Lurien's tale of his proposed bridge with a calm demeanor, but inside he held mixed feelings. On the one hand, the lord and lady had approved it, and that weighed heavily in its favor. On the other hand, he did not personally relish any reminder of that dreadful day, nor did he feel any urge to support Lurien in his quest for atonement. However, he was also quite accustomed to setting aside his own opinions and desires in deference to the greater good of his people, and he had to admit that to have a bridge in that particular location would be convenient.

"I will consider this," he told Lurien, who was waiting expectantly for his reply. "But I cannot promise to agree."

"And you will speak to Elanor?" Lurien spoke as nonchalantly as possible, trying to hide how apprehensive he felt about her receiving the story in the way he would like. How would Haldir explain it? Would he leave out important details? Would he influence her with his own opinion?

"I will discuss this with her when she is stronger. This is not the right time for it, Lurien. I leave for the Fences at the end of this week. Perhaps when I return I will mention it to her. In the meantime, I suggest you rein in your impatience."

Lurien had been about to protest the delay, but thought better of it. "Very well," he said instead. "I submit to your wishes."

Haldir finished his wine and set down his glass, then shot a keen glance at Lurien. "If you lack tasks to occupy you, you may come with me to the Fences."

Lurien stared, unsure whether or not he was being mocked. "I have no sword," he said at last.

"Galadriel did not take your bow, did she?" Haldir's cool voice was steady.

"No." Lurien swallowed. "Why would you want me there? I am not a warden."

"I do not want you there, but it gives me the opportunity to keep an eye on you."

Lurien flushed. "You do not trust me, then."

"Not yet, I do not. You will have to earn my trust." Haldir's lips twisted. "I do trust you not to put an arrow in my back." He rose to his feet. "Think about it. I leave in three days, and my offer stands."

"What of the other wardens?"

Haldir lifted a brow. "You fear them?"

"No!" Lurien glared.

"Then you have no reason not to go, unless it is Orcs that you fear."

"I do not fear them either," Lurien said defiantly. He had seen and fought Orcs while accompanying Galadriel on one of her forays outside the Wood. Nasty creatures, they were. He loathed them, but he was not afraid.

"Good," Haldir said unexpectedly. "Give me your answer soon, then." He crossed the room and left.

Lurien sat unmoving, his bemused mind following new and unexpected paths. Paths that led him away from his beloved city . . . to the border of Lórien.

xxx

The moon hung high over the mellyrn by the time Gwirith drifted silently along the pathways of Caras Galadhon. Her thoughts were no less at ease with what she was set to do than they had been when Tarwë had asked it of her. Perhaps she ought not to have agreed, but she and Tarwë had been friends for a long time, and Tarwë had been so persuasive.

The small, twinkling lights lit her path, but her feet knew the way to Lurien's talan; she had been there before, although not for a long while. She reached his door and paused, her heart thumping, not with excitement, but with apprehension and guilt. Still, she was determined to do as she had promised; she had given Tarwë her word. Thankfully, she found that Lurien had not secured his privacy latch, so that she was able to gain entry easily enough.

Inside, she paused to listen, but heard no sound, nothing to indicate he was even in there.

She moved on into his sleeping chamber, her sharp eyesight searching for a sleeping figure in the bed, but she saw no one. Where was he?

The terrace, of course.

It did not take her long to find him. He had spread out a blanket, and lay on his back under the rustling leaves, his fair hair fanning outward as though arranged by a tender, feminine hand. In reverie, he looked even more sublimely beautiful than he did when he was alert and awake. In short, he was the most perfect male Gwirith had ever had the pleasure to observe; that much had not changed, and perhaps never would.

Gwirith inhaled a breath and moved forward, slowly lowering herself to her knees beside Lurien. She touched his shoulder and smoothed her hand across his chest.

"Gwirith," he said calmly, "what are you doing here?"

"I came to comfort you," she whispered. "You have been so lonely of late. I thought to relieve you of some of your burdens."

With fluid grace he sat upright, his gaze probing hers. "You should not be here." His eyes ran over her, though not with his usual, lingering style.

"Why not?" she asked.

Lurien frowned. "Because it is not fitting."

_'Push him,' Tarwë had bidden her._

"Not fitting?" With a little laugh, Gwirith inched closer, so that her knees pressed against the hard muscle of his thigh. The gown she wore was gossamer thin, a pale blue that revealed far more than it concealed. "But who is to know?" she breathed. Her hand slid across his stomach, her long fingers caressing him gently.

His hand captured hers, halting her motion. "Gwirith," he uttered, his voice a little rough, "I do not wish to hurt your feelings, but please stop. I cannot . . . "

_'Entice him, Gwirith!'_

"Of course you can." Gwirith leaned forward and pressed her lips to his, kissing him softly. "I have been without an ellon for too long." Shifting her weight, she brazenly swung one leg over his so that she straddled him. "Make love to me, Lurien."

Lurien's eyes slid shut, and a look of near agony crossed his face. "Gwirith, hearken to me," he gasped as her hands began to roam. His fingers clamped around her wrists, pulling her away from him. "I am your friend, sweet one, but I cannot be your lover. I am sorry."

"Why?" She pretended to pout. "Am I not tempting enough?"

"You are very tempting and lovely, but . . . you are not Tarwë, you see." He sounded apologetic. "I have vowed in my heart to be faithful to her."

"I see." Gwirith struggled with mixed feelings, assuring herself that she did not feel rejected in the least, although she did, just a little. It was very foolish of her, especially when she was so pleased and relieved on Tarwë's behalf. "You are in love with her?"

"I am, yes." Lurien's blue eyes held a sense of purpose, but no regret.

With a leisurely nod, Gwirith climbed off him and gracefully rose to her feet. "Then I will go. Forgive me for intruding on your rest."

"There is nothing to forgive," he said graciously. "You honor me with your visit."

Gwirith sighed and retreated, wondering how honored he would feel if he knew she had been sent to test him. She still felt foolish, but she had done what Tarwë asked and that was what counted.

Retracing her steps, she walked once more along the pathways of the city, debating where to go next. It would be discreet to return to her own talan for the remainder of the night, but it would be cruel to make Tarwë wait until morning. Besides, she had to pass Beredain's talan on the way to Tarwë. Perhaps fortune would smile on her, and she would happen upon him on the path.

xxx

Elrohir winced at the shrill female voice on the other side of his horse, the speaker hidden from his view by the tall stallion prancing nervously from the sound. He smoothed the plaits of hair around the horse's ears, whispering in a vain attempt to soothe the animal, but the complaints continued until Elrohir gave up and jerked the horse away from the elleth whose fingers had hold of its mane. Lana frowned, her blue eyes narrowed as she compressed her lips in the unattractive pout that Elrohir despised.

Everything had gone nicely until Elanor's sister had seen the horse the King had selected for her. Now it was Elrohir's horse she wanted, and everyone in the small paddock had heard her strident complaints about the mount she had been given. Off in the distance, but not out of earshot, stood Telrion and Minden, along with the party of Lórien elves who had made the journey with them. None of them looked very pleased. Elladan murmured something wicked beneath his breath, just loudly enough for Elrohir to hear.

Elrohir shrugged, exchanging a knowing look with his twin while Lana rounded on her father and stomped her foot.

"Ada, all I want is a better horse! The other one is a . . . a slug!"

"That is enough, Lanaewen." The voice was weary, but Eluon, Lana's father, gave no other sign of weakness. He stood staring at his younger and very spoiled daughter with a hooded gaze, hand resting affectionately upon his lovely wife's shoulder.

Elrohir expelled a sigh of relief. He had wondered if anyone would speak up and rescue him and his stallion from the elleth's tirade. To be addressed by her full mother-name, apparently a rarity from the parents who had coddled her into a spoiled brat, had momentarily shut Lana's mouth, but unfortunately it was a blessing that did not persist.

"But, Ada, I want to ride as I should, in the style meant for a--"

"You will ride the beast that Thranduil has so thoughtfully provided," Eluon cut in sharply, "and you will do it without complaint. I am weary of your tantrums, child, and we have a long journey ahead. You will behave respectfully toward those who journey with us to keep us safe." He glanced at his wife, but Lana's mother's lips were pursed and silent. She did not relish this journey, Elrohir knew, but nothing anyone said had talked her out of making it. A pity, really, since neither the Lórien elves nor those from Imladris relished making the journey with either Iriel or her tiresome daughter, even if they were both exceptionally striking, with their near look-alike beauty.

Lana turned to her mother. "Naneth!" she tried again, but swallowed when Eluon lifted a warning hand.

He turned to address Elrohir and Elladan, who had both stepped forward. "Please forgive my daughter," he said, his mouth slightly twisted. "We are ready to depart if you are. I expect Thranduil will be happy to see our backs." Lana glared at him, and even Iriel looked a little annoyed, but neither elleth contradicted him, to Elrohir's relief.

Lana's lower lip thrust out, but withdrew again when a young Mirkwood ellon sprinted into the paddock, hurtling over the low wooden fence that held an assortment of gear.

"My lady," he called to Lana, "wait, please wait! You cannot leave yet!"

Lana smoothed her skirts, brushed back a long strand of her hair, and to Elrohir's sardonic amusement, plastered a sweet smile on her face.

The smitten young elf skidded to a halt in front of her. "Lady Lanaewen, you did not tell me you were leaving today!"

He sounded rather hurt, and Elrohir wondered if he would ever know what a lucky escape he was getting. Still, Lana's reply sounded fairly sincere.

"I am sorry, Gelion, but I did not know we would be leaving so quickly. We have word that my sister has been injured." She sent the Mirkwood ellon a sad smile. "I did wish to tell you, but I had no time. For all we know, Elanor may be dying."

In which case, Elrohir reflected cynically, wasting time arguing about which horse she would ride seemed exceptionally imprudent. But then, had Lana ever really cared about anyone other than herself? From the corner of his eye, he saw Elladan shrug, his reply to his twin's silently voiced musing.

Gelion drew back with a gasp. "Oh, my lady, that is terrible news! No wonder you are rushing off." He turned to Eluon and bowed deeply. "Forgive my intrusion, Master Eluon, but I hold your daughter close to my heart. You do expect to return, do you not?" he added anxiously.

Elrohir's brow shot up as he studied Lana more carefully. She was actually fidgeting, peeping up through her eyelashes at the tall, slim elf who spoke to her father. Her cheeks were flushed, and if Elrohir were not so distrustful of Lana's motives and attention span, he would almost have said that she, too, was smitten, or at least infatuated. Lana? He laughed to himself. What she needed was to have her heart broken a time or two; it would do her a world of good.

Eluon was smiling. "We will return eventually, Gelion, but I cannot tell you when. Depending on circumstances, we may travel back to Imladris, where you would be most welcome to visit."

Gelion beamed, bowed, and touched his heart. "I would be delighted." Looking happy, he whirled to capture Lana's hand and raise it to his lips to kiss. "I will hold you to your promise, my lady. The one you made to me not three nights ago."

"Lanaewen!" Iriel exclaimed. "What promise is this?"

Elrohir fought a desire to roll his eyes while Lana blushed and pulled her hand away. "'Tis nothing, Nana. 'Twas no promise, Gelion, as well you know! Look, I must go. We have a long journey to make." Clearly flustered, she turned to Elrohir. "Where is my horse? Why do you not fetch it for me, Elrohir, instead of standing about with that clumsy horse, listening to private conversations?"

"Lanaewen," Eluon rebuked, "that is no way to address a son of Elrond. Or anyone else, for that matter."

"Oh, forgive me, please," she said to Elrohir--far too sweetly, in his opinion. "I did not mean to be disrespectful."

With a civil nod, Elrohir walked away toward the rather commonplace gray mare that Thranduil had decided he could spare. The King had not really wanted to part with any of his better horses, but he had given Eluon and Iriel a pair of tolerably good mounts. As he walked across the long grass, he noticed Telrion pacing back and forth. That elf was clearly in a rush to return to Lórien, however much he tried to hide it. That elleth, apparently. What was her name? Túre, that was it.

Elrohir sighed. In the meantime, Lana was still Lana. It would be a long journey back to Lothlórien.

xxx

Feeling content after an afternoon spent translating texts, Healea carried two bowls of stew to her dining table, setting one before Túre and the second before Elanor. She then returned to the simmering pot to ladle stew into two more bowls, one for herself and one for Cothion.

"It has been too long," Túre said restlessly as Healea joined them again. "Why have they not returned by now? It is not as though they traveled on foot, they had horses! What could have delayed them?" Her fingers tapped nervously on the edge of the table, betraying the extent of the agitation that she had until tonight mostly kept hidden.

Cothion poured wine for Elanor and Túre. "How long has it been?" he asked, although Healea knew that he knew. He was simply giving Túre a chance to speak of what worried her, a kindness that did him credit in his doting wife's eyes.

Túre told him, clearly expecting a reaction, but Cothion was careful not to look alarmed, for which Healea was grateful. It really had not been that long, and she did not want her friend to be frightened unnecessarily. She had suffered enough as it was.

Healea glanced at Elanor, who had fallen strangely silent. "Elanor? What is wrong? Are you not hungry?"

Elanor looked over at her and smiled quickly. "Nothing is wrong, Healea. Forgive me. My mind was elsewhere." She picked up her spoon and took a taste of the stew. "This is delicious."

"Cothion made it," Healea informed them, directing a fond smile at her husband. He sent her a meaningful look, one that reminded her of a little promise she had made to him if he would prepare dinner for them all.

"Are you not worried about Telrion and his friend?" Túre asked Elanor.

"I am trying not to worry," Elanor replied slowly. "I am more inclined to wonder if . . . " Her voice trailed off, her cheeks a little flushed.

Healea tasted her soup, wondering what was troubling Elanor. Was she concerned about Haldir being at the border in Lurien's company? She had not been happy when she had heard about it, that much Healea knew, although Haldir had assured her that he and Lurien had made their peace.

"What is it, Elanor?" she prodded.

Elanor set down her spoon and forced a small smile. "Nothing, Healea. It is only that I am wondering what my family's reaction will have been, and if they have decided to travel here. If so, it crossed my mind that it might explain the delay."

"Now that could be," Cothion remarked. "You see, Túre? Telrion and the others are likely slowed down by Elanor's family. I am sure they are all quite safe."

Túre looked relieved to be provided with such a reasonable explanation, but Healea noted the tiny furrow on Elanor's brow. She did not appear at all enthused by the prospect of her family's imminent arrival. Somehow Healea was unsurprised, although Elanor had not told her very much about them; even so, she had made a few assumptions on her own. Still, Healea decided, brooding was not good for Elanor; she needed a distraction.

"Perhaps it is time to resume your archery practice," she commented. "You are strong enough now, do you not think?"

Elanor looked a little startled. "I suppose I am. But I am not sure that Haldir would approve."

Healea gave a little snort. "Do we care? If you are going to keep him around, Elanor, it would be most unwise to let him have his way too often. Besides, is it not Galadriel whose opinion you should seek? Haldir no longer has any say over what you do and do not do."

"True," Elanor allowed, with a slight, wistful smile. "I will speak to the Lady tomorrow. She has allowed me to resume my work in her garden, but of course that is easy toil."

"Let me know what you decide, and I will join you on the field."

"I will," Elanor promised, looking a lot happier.

Healea vowed silently to be sure that Elanor's family understood certain things, some of them concerning Elanor's desire to stay in Lórien, some of them concerning Haldir, and some of them concerning Healea's own, very high, opinion of Elanor herself.

Now, if only that Imladris elf would get himself back here and see to Túre!

xxx

_Elanor slept, drowsing lazily in the afternoon sun of the Lady's garden. She was dreaming of Haldir, dreaming that her body nestled against his, his arm around her waist. She could not see him, for he lay behind her, but within this dream she opened her eyes and saw a white marble archway entwined with honeysuckle. _

_For a reason she did not understand, she felt alarmed. "Haldir, where are we? I do not know this place." _

_"You do know it," he replied, reaching out to pull her back into his arms. "This is our home, Elanor. Our home in the Undying Lands." _

_"This is Aman?" Why did she not remember? _

_Elanor blinked, trying to see more, but the dazzling sun obscured her vision. Only the archway could she see, and when she turned to look at Haldir, he saw that he was lying in a bright patch of ninniach-loth, his silvery hair spread outward around his naked shoulders. "Elanor," he whispered. "Where are you?" _

_"I am right here. What do you mean?" She reached to touch him, but to her horror, her hand passed right through him._

_  
__"I cannot see you, my love. Are you hiding from me?" _

_"I am here!" Again she tried to touch him, but it was as though he were only made of smoke. _

_"Where are you, Elanor?" _

_"I am here!" she said again, with rising panic. _

_"I cannot see you . . . " His voice echoed strangely. _

_"He sees only me," purred a voice Elanor knew all too well. _

_Elanor sat frozen, afraid to look around._

_  
__"Soon I will arrive," Lana whispered, "and once I do, he will never see you again." A crimson rose landed on Haldir's belly. "You will be invisible again, just as you were before and always will be." _

_Another rose, and then another, fell upon Haldir._

_  
__"No!" Elanor protested in horror. "No, no!"_

_  
_A hand was touching her, shaking her shoulder gently. "Elanor, wake up. It is only a dream, my dear."

Elanor's eyes flew open, but for a moment she could hardly take in her surroundings. Then she realized it was Galadriel bending over her, her lips curved in a beautiful, tender smile.

"My lady?" she gasped in confusion, her body still shaking from what seemed an unbearable pain in her heart.

"'Twas nothing but a dream, child, born of old fears. It is time to let them go. You do not need them any more."

Embarrassed, Elanor sat up hastily, brushing her hair from her face. "You saw my dream?"

"Forgive me, but I did. I felt I had to see what it was that so troubles you." Galadriel sat down beside her in the grass, her blue eyes filled with compassion. "You have nothing to fear, Elanor. Haldir's love for you is true."

"I know he loves me," Elanor murmured, feeling foolish.

"I am glad. No other has he loved before you. Not even Healea."

"Yes, he told me that."

"Remember it then, and lay down the burden that you carry. Your sister does not possess the power to take him from you."

"I know," Elanor mumbled, gazing at her fingers.

"They will arrive in three days," Galadriel said gently. "I have seen it."

A wave of anxiety shuddered through Elanor.

"Your family loves you, child. They have made mistakes, but they do love you."

Elanor lifted her head. "Thank you, my lady. Thank you for everything."

Galadriel gracefully rose to her feet, and gazed thoughtfully down at her ward. "You wish to resume your archery practice?"

"I feel strong enough, yes."

"Then so be it." Galadriel studied her with those brilliant, wise eyes. "I think someday you and Haldir will see that marbled archway in your dream. It is the entrance to one of the most beautiful gardens in Valinor. I remember it well."

With that, she turned and glided away, leaving Elanor to consider the implications of her words.

xxx

Haldir settled into the crotch of the tree, bow hung on a small notch within an arm's reach, his quiver balanced on his lap and his feet tucked into the crook of two branches.

It was, on the Fences, as close to laziness as a warden could get. His eyes still scanned the forest below, and his head turned, tilting occasionally as his sensitive hearing picked up different sounds. To a stranger, he would have looked as if he had not a care in the world. But of course he did have cares, one in particular who was constantly on his mind and in his heart.

Pressured only by himself, he had finally left Caras Galadhon to return to the far-reaching fences of Lothlórien. For too long had the border patrols lacked his presence; for too long had he pushed aside his responsibilities. He needed to reassure his wardens that he was still a capable leader, one who would share in their duties, fight alongside them, take command and make decisions.

But he sorely missed Elanor, even with the indwaedh hanging against his chest, assuring him that she was but a heartbeat away. He touched the jewel beneath his tunic, absently smoothing the wool fabric. He had chosen the northern boundaries of Lórien for a reason, sending Rúmil to the south to lead the guard against the occasional raid of Orcs from Mordor.

He knew Elanor's parents were coming; they must be. Elrond had sent word to Eluon and Iriel of Elanor's fall, so they would come, would they not? Any day now, any moment, they were bound to arrive. And he had yet to decide what he would say to them or even how he would react to them, knowing what he did about Elanor's family situation.

Haldir sighed. He would not hide in the city, nor would he choose a distant watch that would keep him far from her family. His choices had put Elanor in danger, and he would accept the responsibility for that. He would accept harsh words from her father, apologize to her mother, endure the sister's waspish tongue . . . whatever it took.

But he would not give up Elanor. She was his.

Feeling irritable, he uncrossed his ankles, knowing he ought to have spoken to Lurien on this subject, warned him what to say and not say when her parents arrived. Not that Lurien would appreciate it, but he probably would have listened since he seemed to be genuinely trying to fit in. In fact, Lurien had done well so far, acquitting himself admirably in a small skirmish with a ragged band of Orcs who had wandered too close. The other wardens had tolerated him and been courteous, thank the Valar. So, all in all, things were going well.

The sharp trill of a kestrel sounded through the forest, bringing him to instant alert. Someone was coming. The wardens would watch the trail, alerting him as the travelers moved deeper into the forest, closer to where Haldir had taken up watch.

Haldir braced himself inwardly, knowing the moment he had dreaded was at hand.

tbc


	34. Chapter ThirtyFour

To our Readers: Here is a new chapter, a holiday gift to our readers, 11,000+ words. We had hoped to finish this story before Christmas, but I doubt that will happen. We think there will be one more chapter and an epilogue after this, but that is not definite. It could possibly be 2 chapters and an epilogue, or just 2 chapters.

Anyway, a huge THANK YOU to all our reviewers. While it is labor of love to write this story, it is also hard work, and it is nice to know it's appreciated. I know Fianna joins me in wishing you all the very best, and to thank you for reading, and in many cases for adding us to your favorites list or author alert lists. That is an honor for us. We hope to get another chapter posted within the next 4 weeks.

xxx

**Chapter Thirty-Four**

Telrion's heart gladdened at his first sight of Lothlórien in several weeks. The golden mellyrn seemed to beckon him forward, reminding him that within their bosom, Túre awaited him. How he had missed her! He could hardly wait to have her in his arms again!

He knew he was not the only one among the group whose heart was lifting. He felt certain that the thought of reaching their destination soon was on everyone's mind, for the journey had been far from pleasant, thanks to Elanor's sister. Telrion had never liked Lana; she always seemed to say or do something that annoyed him, not to mention that she had been taking advantage of Elanor for more years than he cared to consider. At least Elanor's eyes had finally been opened . . . he hoped.

"Is that it?" Lana's voice intruded upon Telrion's thoughts, but she was not addressing him, thank the Valar. He was so weary of listening to her shrewish complaints. First it was her horse, then it was the speed at which they traveled, then it was the lack of this or that, and finally the absurdity of sleeping on the hard ground. If that foolish young elf, Gelion, had been present to hear his lady love's grousing, Telrion was sure he would have fled back to Mirkwood and its spiders.

"Yes, that is it," Lana's father, Eluon, replied. "Those are the mighty golden leaved mellyrn of Lothlórien, my dear. Their leaves stay on the trees through the winter and fall to the ground in the spring. Their stock came from Númenor itself, the island kingdom of the Dúnedain."

"They originally grew in Tol Eressëa," interjected one of the Lórien elves who had accompanied them. He sounded very proud, but Lana only yawned and looked bored.

"So tall they are," she said petulantly. "They must hide the sun, and make life very dismal and dull."

"Life in Lórien is far from dismal and dull," returned the Lórien elf, looking very offended. "The mellyrn accommodate our needs and part their leaves so that the sun flows onto our gardens and terraces. No place in Arda holds more beauty."

Lana turned up her nose. "You would not say that if you had seen Imladris. I have been to three elven realms, and I can tell you that Imladris is superior in all respects." Her reply prompted the Lórien elf to move his horse far ahead of hers, his shoulders stiff with the insult.

"That's our tactful Lana," Minden said in a very low voice. "Amazing how many people she can offend without even trying. There was her one chance to compensate for her deplorable behavior these past weeks, and she tossed it away. If she had at least _tried_ to be impressed, she could have undone some of the damage."

"The twins hardly seem to notice," Telrion observed, just as quietly.

"She amuses them. I fear they plan some mischief at her expense."

"You fear?" Telrion grinned. "You mean you hope!"

Minden laughed. "Aye, you know me well. I tell you truly, cousin, if she causes our Elanor one moment of unhappiness here in Lórien, I will beg them to do something wicked!"

"Then you may as well ask them now, for she is bound to cause everyone nothing but misery. Now, remind me again why we did not leave her somewhere in the wilderness?"

"Because Túre's bed calls to you," Minden said slyly. "And you want to be in it, and not sent out again to find the little she-orc."

Telrion sighed, thinking how right Minden was. His entire body ached for Túre. "This journey has taken twice as long as necessary," he grumbled.

"Thanks to Lana, yes it has," Minden agreed fervently. "Iriel does not complain half as much . . . nay, not a quarter as much! If her daughter would only learn from her!"

Elrohir's crisp voice interjected. "If the mother would smack her daughter's nicely rounded bottom now and then, we would all be better-off." He had come up behind them, his mount now riding abreast of theirs.

Minden snickered softly. "Iriel strike her daughter? Trust me, she is of far too gentle a spirit to commit such a cruel act. I doubt Eluon can do it either, else he would have done so long ago."

"It need not cause pain," Elrohir pointed out. "Why, I recall Master Erestor handing out many smacks that damaged no more than my dignity . . . when Elladan and I were only elflings, I grant you," he added with twinkling eyes. "Still, our dear Lanaewen might profit from such handling."

"Do I mistake, or do you have a plan in mind?" Telrion asked.

Elrohir smiled naughtily, and glanced over his shoulder at his smirking twin. "Now why would you ask that? Do I look like the sort of ellon who would plot against a sweet, innocent elleth?"

Telrion and Minden exchanged a glance. "Yes," they said in unison.

xxx

As the signal echoed through the trees, Lurien realized what it meant and instinctively straightened his posture. From his vantage point in the tall mallorn, he could see Haldir's face, but as usual the stern features revealed no outward emotion. Yet Lurien guessed he was far from calm.

For days he had sensed tension in the other elf and had speculated that its cause was the possibility—nay, the likelihood—that Elanor's family would soon arrive. Lurien could easily relate; he was no more eager to meet them than Haldir was, and perhaps even less. After all, he had read those letters from Elanor's mother and sister, and formed a not very flattering opinion of either of them. The sister, Lurien recalled, was trouble with a capital 'T'.

Pondering this, he leapt the short distance between the two mallorn trees and climbed lithely over to where Haldir was perched. "Are you ready?" he asked. They had not spoken at all about Elanor's family, and he half expected to be snubbed.

Haldir's eyes met his. "I have to be," he said evenly. "Are you?"

"I am with you," Lurien told him in the same tone.

Haldir nodded. "Say nothing of our fight," he warned. "I know not how much they have been told, but we must endure their company for some hours and I'd like to establish a degree of cordiality if possible."

"We?" Lurien picked out the pertinent word.

Haldir gave him a sardonic look. "_We_," he emphasized, "will accompany our guests to Caras Galadhon. You are here on my sufferance, and if I go, then so will you." His eyes glinted. "Perhaps you will enjoy the day more than you think. Elanor's sister is quite the entrancing little beauty."

Lurien curled his lip. "Spare me, Haldir. She does not interest me."

"No? You have not met her yet."

"But you have. And you are quick to foist her off on me."

Haldir looked amused, but said nothing more as his attention was caught by a second birdcall. The visitors drew close.

While they waited, Lurien's thoughts drifted to that silly elleth's letter to Elanor. Why would Haldir think he would be interested in such a fool? It annoyed him that Haldir's opinion mattered to him, just as it always had if he were honest with himself. Was this why Haldir had invited him to the Fences? If so, it was insulting and offensive, considering that he had told Haldir of his love for Tarwë and how he intended to change in order to win her back. He had thought such an admission would have meant something, but evidently it had only . . . Lurien broke the thought off suddenly as a new idea occurred to him, one so startling that he had trouble absorbing it.

Haldir had only been teasing him. Teasing, not needling nor mocking. It had not been an insult.

He glanced sideways, noting the rigid set of Haldir's jaw. "Cease your worrying," he said gruffly. "All will be well, Valar willing."

Haldir shot him an odd glance, but made no reply.

Lurien leaned back, wondering what madness had prompted him to offer comfort to Haldir. Still, it didn't really matter and would change nothing between them. Or would it?

Sighing inwardly, he allowed his thoughts to drift to Tarwë as they so often did these days. Even though a part of him was actually enjoying his stay at the Lothlórien border, his heart and his body ached unrelentingly for her, as though a great gaping hole had been torn in the center of his being. Their leave-taking had not gone as well as he'd hoped; she had bidden him farewell and told him to stay safe, but had not allowed him even to kiss her as he had wished.

When at last the travelers came into view, Lurien found himself studying Elanor's sister. With her golden hair, blue eyes and perfect features, she was indeed astonishingly lovely--except for her sullen expression--and so was the elleth who was obviously her mother. Beside her rode a handsome, dark-haired ellon garbed in dark green with a cloak of gray. Elanor's father, evidently. Lurien assessed the couple with curiosity, noting that Elanor bore some of the mother's features, but also some of her father's, including the dark hair.

"Your task," Haldir told him in a quiet tone, "is to engage Elanor's sister's attention. Keep her occupied so that I can speak to her parents without interruption."

Lurien grimaced slightly and nodded. It sounded an easy enough task, but instinct told him it would not be pleasant. It struck him then, at that precise moment, how very much he had changed in these past weeks. Until recently, resisting a beautiful elleth was just not something he had ever considered or done. Always he had taken what he wanted from all of them, Tarwë included. But some kind of shift had taken place deep inside him, something that was forcing him to change and reevaluate. Not only had he refused Gwirith, he now found that he was wholly uninterested in this lovely creature below. He was simply not the same ellon he had been a few weeks ago. But could he convince Tarwë of that?

From there, events proceeded swiftly. Haldir revealed himself to their visitors and Lurien followed, remaining silent while Haldir completed his preliminary greeting to Elanor's father and mother, as well as the sons of Elrond. While Elanor's father, Eluon, introduced his wife and daughter to Haldir, Telrion and Minden glowered at Lurien, reminding him that they had not forgotten or forgiven his part in Elanor's accident.

"We did not expect to see you here," Telrion remarked with icy softness.

Lurien lifted his chin, informing them without words that he was not intimidated. "I am here at Haldir's request," he retorted. He would have liked to remind them that they, not he, were the guests in this Wood, but he refrained.

Telrion and Minden exchanged a skeptical glance, then Minden gave a small shrug. "If you say so." It was clear they would have liked to say more, but the presence of Elanor's family reined in their tongues.

Lurien waited, listening while Haldir spoke briefly and formally to the elleth, Lanaewen, before introducing her to Lurien. Lurien ignored the fact that she'd already been staring at him, and with a sinking heart, greeted her with just enough suaveness to flatter her vanity. Haldir gave Lurien a meaningful look, then turned back to her parents, leaving Lurien to attend to Lana.

If he had been in a better mood, Lurien would have found it almost comical the way Elanor's sister alternated between complaints concerning her hardships and simpering behavior she apparently thought was alluring. As the party moved through the woods in the direction of Caras Galadhon, Lurien walked alongside Lana, listening while she detailed the atrocities to which she'd been subjected and fluttered her eyelashes at him. She'd been given a horse she despised, compelled to sleep upon the cold hard ground, eat plain food she did not like, travel when she wished to rest, and generally been subjected to callous and indifferent behavior by everyone other than her own parents. The twins had been especially horrid and unkind, she had been woefully mistreated, and life was by and large despicable.

"Surely it cannot have been as bad as that," Lurien said rather mildly, during a short lull in Lana's grumbling. He had allowed a short distance to widen between them and Haldir, thus affording Haldir the chance to converse unheard with Elanor's parents. Behind them rode Telrion and Minden, and behind them, the remainder of the Lórien elves who had accompanied the traveling party.

"On the contrary it was far worse," she assured him in a tremulous voice. "Look at this decrepit creature! Every moment on its back has been sheer misery! Every bone and muscle in my body aches!" She cast him an arch look, as though she expected him to do something about it.

Sensing the mare's indignation and annoyance, Lurien stroked a soothing hand along the beast's shoulder. "This little mare has done her best," he told her neutrally. "In any case, you will find your accommodations in Caras Galadhon pleasing. All our guest quarters are comfortable and well furnished."

"I find that difficult to believe given that you all sleep in trees," she said waspishly. "In any case I expect to stay with my sister. How does she fare?" The inquiry seemed almost an afterthought to Lurien.

"I am told her recovery goes swiftly," he said guardedly.

Lana tittered. "I do not doubt she exaggerated her injury."

Lurien looked at her in astonishment. "I beg your pardon? Why would she do that?"

"To escape from Haldir." Her tone suggested his wits were lacking. "He is the most heartless, callous, wicked ellon alive."

"I believe Elanor is quite fond of Haldir, and he of her," Lurien replied, wishing he was somewhere, anywhere, but with this foolish young elleth. How ironic to be put in a position where he felt honor bound to defend Haldir!

Lana laughed again, an irritating sound. "My sister has not the wiles to attract or hold an elf like him." Her pretty lips twisted unattractively as she added, "I cannot imagine an elleth who would want him though."

Lurien ground his teeth, envying Elrohir and Elladan their freedom to ride on ahead, ostensibly to arrive early and make known the visitors' safe arrival. This of course was only an excuse for them to exercise their boundless energy and, Lurien guessed, to put a goodly distance between themselves and Elanor's sister.

Haldir, meanwhile, was making careful conversation with Elanor's parents while he walked alongside their horses. Her state of health was their primary concern, but after being reassured about this, both of them then apologized for her behavior in Imladris, making it clear they had no idea what she had done that had warranted Elrond's unusual punishment. It was also obvious that they wished to know more, but were too polite to demand the full story, at least in this setting with so many others around. Evading their hints, Haldir assured them that Elanor had grown and blossomed in Lothlórien while giving no information about her original transgression. Instead, he spoke of her gardening, her friendships, and the respect with which she was regarded.

"Still," Iriel remarked, "it was a shock to learn she had been sent here as your ward."

"I am sure it was," Haldir said smoothly but with respect, "but nonetheless it has not been a bad experience for her. Quite the reverse, in fact, for she has learned a great deal."

"Then you and my daughter have a cordial relationship?" Eluon asked. He sounded faintly suspicious, and Haldir could just imagine what Lana must have told them, although Elrond's assurances had obviously prevented them from coming here any sooner.

Haldir met his gaze with forthright candor. "Indeed we do. I am very fond of Elanor." That was an understatement, but there would be time enough for that to be revealed.

Eluon accepted this with a nod. "I gave her that name, you know. Even as a tiny child she was always with the flowers, and elanor was her favorite. Has she told you her mother-name?"

"No, she has not."

"It is Ataralassië," Iriel interjected. "I gave her that name because she gave her father so much joy when she was born." She exchanged a loving glance with Eluon. "I wanted a Quenya name for her, though I never quite knew why. It seemed appropriate at the time," she added, with another soft smile for her husband.

"It is a lovely name," Haldir said courteously. He knew enough Quenya to know that the name meant "joy of the father"; he did not add, however, that to him she would always be Elanor.

Conversation soon lapsed into silence, for it was plain that the bulk of Eluon's concern centered on his wife, who was clearly too weary to converse for very long. Haldir strode along, evaluating the couple silently. As of yet he had learned little other than that they loved Elanor and were perhaps not quite as selfish as he had previously thought. But it was also clear that their primary focus was each other. Still, that was no crime, excepting that their younger daughter was in need of far more guidance than she had been receiving. Even now, Haldir could hear Lana's voice, sniping away about something, but he shifted his focus away and left her to Lurien to manage.

Beneath Haldir's tunic, the Indwaedh throbbed, reminding him of Elanor's love for him and his for her. It filled him with longing, a longing that he now had the ability to tune out if he wished. But he did not do that, and instead let it wash over him like a warm, seductive summer rain.

All he really wished to do was return to her, haul her off to his talan and make love to her over and over. But, as usual, his wants and desires would have to wait. Elanor's family was here, and things would be different for a while.

xxx

With the arrival of Elrohir and Elladan, tidings of the visitors spread quickly through the city, reaching Elanor's ears as she worked peacefully in Galadriel's garden. Her heart leaped with the knowledge that Haldir would soon be with her, but the prospect of being with her family again left her with mixed feelings. It would be good to see them, and yet . . . what would happen? What would they say? And how would she avoid telling them the truth about what she had done in Imladris?

It would be some hours still, since some of the travelers were on foot, but she found she could no longer concentrate on gardening. Whispering farewell to the bush she had been tenderly shaping, Elanor returned to her talan to wash and change her gown, making herself properly presentable for a reunion with her parents and sister. Her thoughts churned with anxiety, but she shoved this aside, reminding herself that no one could force her to leave Haldir, except perhaps Lady Galadriel or Lord Celeborn. And they had both made it plain that she was welcome to stay.

Even so, her tension did not abate as she made her way to the city gate and found a place to sit and wait. Her mind replayed some of the recriminations in her mother's letter, which made her stomach tighten into knots of nervousness. What would her mother say to Haldir? Would she say anything to him in front of others? The more she thought about it, the more agitated she became.

A short while later, Healea joined her, gracefully seating herself beside Elanor on the curved mallorn root that served as a bench. "What is wrong, Elanor? You look almost as nervous as the day of the archery tournament."

Elanor had to smile. "Do I? No, it is not as bad as that. I am just a little worried about . . . a few things."

"How they will react to your decision to stay in Lórien?" Healea's eyes were shrewd. "Courage, Elanor. Remember who you are, who you have chosen to become."

"I know. I just hope they will not be too saddened."

"It is your choice, my friend. They will have to accept it if it is what you choose." They sat in silence for a few moments, then Healea placed her hand briefly over Elanor's. "I am near if you need me." She rose and walked away.

xxx

At last they came--Haldir and her parents in the lead, Lana and Lurien behind, Telrion and the rest at the end, along with the packhorses. Elanor took in Lurien's proximity to her sister with astonishment, wondering if Lurien had decided to use his wicked wiles on Lana. An instant later, her common sense reminded her that if Lurien was there, it was because Haldir commanded it. Her parents would have been keeping an eye on Lana. As for Lurien, he would surely be the one elf most likely to be able to take care of himself, so there could be no worries about him succumbing to her sister's charms the way so many did.

Elanor's gaze went first to Haldir and found her eyes locked with his. Her indwaedh felt as though it hummed louder, sending awareness of him cascading through her body. For a moment all else faded, and then he was assisting her mother to dismount the horse she had been riding.

Elanor hurried forward. "Naneth, Ada, I am so glad to see you!"

"Elanor!" Her mother's arms enfolded her, and for a moment she was swept away into old feelings from long ago, comforting feelings from her early childhood that made her feel safe, protected and loved. Forgotten for the moment were those other feelings, the ones that had made her feel pushed aside, unappreciated and judged.

Her mother pulled away, holding her at arm's length. "There now, greet your father, for he is anxious to assure himself that you are in one piece."

Elanor turned to her father, who embraced her tenderly. "Ataralassië," he murmured. "My daughter, it is good to see you again."

"And you, Ada," she whispered.

"You look so well," her mother observed, her blue-eyed gaze running over Elanor. "Elrond's letter led us to believe you were half dead." She sounded slightly critical, as though she now thought she had made the journey for nothing.

Lord Elrond's voice cut in. "Elanor was indeed grievously injured, as my letter stated." He walked forward, his noble face set in a benevolent expression. "Mae govennen, Iriel, Eluon. My sons tell me your journey was uneventful."

Eluon smiled warmly. "If you mean free from attack, yes indeed. But I fear my wife and daughter have found it arduous. They are both extremely weary."

Elanor shifted her attention to Haldir while Elrond was speaking. He had moved several steps away, and held the reins of the three horses used by her parents and Lana. She looked a question at him, silently beseeching him to tell her when they would meet. Their gazes touched; his told her that he would see her later, and she nodded slightly, letting him know she understood.

As he led the horses away, she turned and looked at her sister, who was gazing around her with an expression that was half wondering and half wretched. "Hello, Lana," she said softly.

"Elanor!" It was almost a sob, and then Lana was in her arms, her slim body shaking uncontrollably. "I have missed you so much! You cannot imagine how awful it has been without you! I am so tired and achy and my backside h-hurts so much from that d-dreadful h-horse!"

Sensing that this was no act, Elanor's arms closed automatically around her weeping younger sister. "Do not cry, Lana. All is well. You are here now and can rest." She could not help remembering her own journey and discomfort, but that led to other memories that she quickly shoved aside. "I am sure you will find your talan very comfortable."

Lana raised her face, managing to look stunningly beautiful even with tears seeping from her blue eyes. "B-but am I not staying with you?"

"A place has been prepared for your family," inserted a gentle voice behind Elanor. Elanor looked around to find one of Lady Galadriel's handmaidens standing there wearing a polite smile. "I am Eredhien," the elleth continued. "Lady Galadriel has requested me to be your guide. If you will all follow me?"

"Thank you," Iriel declared, sounding most appreciative. "I would very much like to rest and wash."

Eredhien then turned to Lurien, who had been standing off to the side. "Lurien," she added, "will you arrange for the delivery of their belongings?" If Elanor did not know better, she would have said Lurien had just been standing there, waiting to be of service, but that seemed impossible.

Lurien bowed slightly. "I shall do so with pleasure." He sounded unusually helpful, Elanor noted suspiciously. What was he after? Lana?

Elanor walked along with her family and Eredhien, curious to learn which talan they would be using. Eredhien chatted pleasantly as they moved across the clearing toward one of the huge winding stairs.

As they started up the steps, Elanor noticed Tarwë standing on a balcony overlooking the courtyard, watching Lurien unlash the various packs from the remaining horses. She glanced back at Lurien and then at Tarwë again. What was Lurien thinking? Did he know that Tarwë was there? Had she seen him arrive at Lana's side?

These questions flitted through her head as she climbed the stairway at her sister's side. "So many steps," Lana moaned. "This is dreadful. How can you bear living here?"

"You will grow used to it," Elanor said, ignoring the way Lana rolled her eyes. After all, she recalled how tired she was after her own journey here. She smiled inwardly at the memory. At least Lana had not been asked to carry Haldir's sword or bow!

They soon arrived at a pleasant guest talan that was, surprisingly, nowhere near the one that Elanor occupied. She was about to go inside with the rest of her family when Eredhien touched her arm. "Elanor," she said, "the Lady has requested that you attend her."

Elanor looked at her in surprise. "Now?" she asked. "You mean this moment?"

Eredhien inclined her head. "That is what she said. She asked that you attend her in her talan."

"Then I shall go."

Before her parents could protest, Elanor gave her mother a quick hug, kissed her father's cheek and departed.

xxx

"I thought to advise you a little," Galadriel said kindly. "You are to have dinner with Elrond this evening, you and your parents. Your sister will not be invited." She paused, watching Elanor's reaction. "There are reasons for this. Perhaps you know what they are."

Elanor flushed. "I think so, yes."

"It would be best for all concerned if you allow Elrond to negotiate his way through the conversation that is bound to take place. Your parents are going to want an account of what happened in Imladris."

"I do not want them to know, my lady." Elanor kept her voice calm, but inwardly she was quaking, not for herself but for Haldir. She must protect him at all costs!

"Then have faith in Elrond," Galadriel told her. "All will be well."

xxx

Eluon stepped outside the guest talan and looked around. Already the night was drawing near, the forest darkened with the blue-tinted shadows of evening. Overhead, the canopy of the Golden Wood was beginning to sparkle like the star-sprinkled sky above it. Lights were being lit at the onset of dusk, seeming to beckon him to climb even higher into the trees.

This city amazed him. He had heard so much of Caras Galadhon, yet had never journeyed so far south to visit. Had he done so, he might not have been so worried about how Elanor had fared during her time here. He could not wait to have a look around, preferably with Elanor as his guide, but this was not the moment. Eredhien had informed him that he and Iriel would be dining with Elrond tonight, and that she would return a little later to show them the way.

As for Lanaewen, it had been made clear that she was not included in the invitation. Part of him was affronted and the rest was resigned, for in the past year it had become increasingly apparent to him that his younger daughter possessed certain behavioral failings that required stern correction. He shook his head, but only at himself. If only he did not find that sort of thing so difficult!

Before Eredhien had left, he had asked her to she send word to Telrion and Minden that he wished to speak to them. With a deep breath, he let his gaze drift over his surroundings, searching for them on the various walkways and steps while he took in the varied and fascinating architectural details of this magical city.

After a short time, the two Imladris cousins put in an appearance. "You wish to speak with us?" Telrion asked courteously.

"I do," Eluon said. "I have a favor to ask." He paused, watching their faces, and thought he sensed an undercurrent of impatience, at least from Telrion. "I realize I may be asking too much, but I pray you will take pity on an elderly elf." He smiled slightly. "The favor involves Lana."

Two pairs of blue eyes fixed intently on him, but neither ellon offered any kind of response.

Eluon resisted an urge to fidget. "Iriel and I, along with Elanor, will be dining with Lord Elrond this eve, and Lana . . . will not be with us. I do not want to leave her on her own, even though she may be resting. I wondered if the two of you would stay and bear her company. She is unsure of herself in this place, and rather unhappy . . . as you know." He did not add that he did not quite trust his own daughter not to do something indiscreet if left to her own devices.

Minden bowed. "I cannot refuse, master Eluon. Telrion and I will do as you ask." He was polite but unenthused. "Eredhien can send for us when you leave."

Telrion looked even less willing, but he nodded his agreement when Eluon looked at him. Something was bothering Telrion, but Eluon decided not to ask what it was. He too was weary and wished to rest a short while before dinner. In truth, he longed to curl up next to Iriel and fade into dreams of that place where he so longed to be.

To add to this, he was deeply troubled. Was everything that had happened his fault? Had he been irresponsible in leaving his daughters in Elrond's care for so long?

He had only wanted to spend time alone with Iriel, to bask in her care and enjoy their long hours together. He could never tire of her company, not in ten thousand years, but had he tired of his children? No, the thought was foolish, and yet they had made the decision to leave their daughters behind without a qualm. But Elanor had been fully capable of taking care of herself by then, and had seemed willing and able to take care of Lana as well. Iriel had felt that the two would become closer for the time spent alone with each other. He had agreed, and they had left Imladris without any further concern.

Had they been so negligent?

He tried to remember the content of Elanor's letters these past few years. Had she ever hinted at any problems with Lana? What could have possessed his elder daughter to do whatever it was she had done to Haldir? Elrond had never explained, that was what was so odd. Yet his decision to send Elanor away with Lórien's Marchwarden, as his ward no less, seemed quite drastic to Eluon.

The shock of hearing such news had led to the first argument he and Iriel had had in a very long while. He had wanted to journey to Lórien immediately to find out what it all was about, but Iriel had talked him out of it, saying that Elrond was very wise and would not have chosen something that would not benefit Elanor. He was the Lord of Imladris after all. And, Elrond knew Galadriel as well as anyone could, so Eluon had given in and remained where he was at Iriel's side.

Now he wished he had not.

Haldir had been extremely polite on the journey into Caras Galadhon--distantly polite. His answers concerning Elanor had been vague and impersonal although not uncomplimentary. Actually he had said some very nice things about Elanor, now that he thought about it. He did not know quite what to make of the whole business. He would let Elanor explain further, and he would watch his daughter carefully to find out what she was not saying.

He would get more from her than from Haldir.

xxx

Minden ran a hand through his hair, eyeing his cousin with growing concern. Telrion was sitting on one of the steps near their guest talan, looking so gloomy that Minden felt guiltier with every passing moment.

"I could not tell him no, Tel," he said for the third time. "Elanor needs a chance to explain, and Lana does not need to hear the details. She would just use them against Elanor at some point. By helping Eluon, we are helping Elanor."

Telrion shrugged his shoulders, staring into the shadows. "I know. I understand, really I do. It is just that I had other plans for this evening."

Minden sank down on the steps next to Telrion. "You have a little time. Go to Túre now and explain. She will understand."

Telrion shook his head. "I fear she will not. She has been hurt before, and she will think the worst."

"The worst?" Minden stared at his cousin, and then laughed, punching his shoulder lightly. "You are worried she will think you unfaithful? With that brat, Lana? Oh, that is rich!"

Telrion frowned. "It is easy to laugh."

"Go now, before Eredhien summons us."

"The whole time we were gone I could not get her out of my mind," Telrion said wistfully. "The journey back seemed interminable. And here I sit, torn in half with the knowledge that she must surely be awaiting me. Now I must go and tell her I will be spending my first evening back with an elleth who appears on the surface to be the loveliest creature ever born. One of them, anyway," he added, thinking of Arwen and Healea.

Minden braced himself inwardly, knowing what he had to do. "Well, just go to her then. I will see to Lana myself. I do not need you."

Telrion lifted his head. "I cannot leave you with Lana. The fires of Mount Doom would be more enjoyable."

Minden laughed dryly. "Perhaps so, but after all these weeks, I am sure I can bear a few more hours of the brat. Perhaps she will sleep. If not, I will drag her around the city so fast she will not know where she has been. Better yet, I will hand her off to someone else. Go on, I can manage without you. It does not take two of us."

"Are you certain?" Telrion's eyes were bright with hope.

Minden reached out and pulled his cousin to his feet. "As sure as I can be right now. Go, before I change my mind."

Telrion clasped Minden's shoulder. "I owe you one, Min."

"Indeed you do. And I will not forget it either!"

Telrion grinned and then sprinted down the steps, dark hair streaming behind him in his hurry. Minden chuckled, and sat there for some time until he saw Eredhien in the distance. Wishing it was her he was going to spend the evening with, he waited for her to reach him and then walked beside her, flirting outrageously as they approached Eluon and Iriel's talan. Perhaps she would be free later, he mused. He only hoped the time with Lana would pass quickly.

xxx

To Eluon's relief, Lana was sound asleep when the moment came for him and Iriel to depart. He had been surprised when Minden had shown up alone, but the young ellon had assured them that he was quite capable of keeping watch on his own. Eluon found this acceptable, for Minden was well known to him, the son of a close friend who had sailed West some decades past. Not only was Minden a dependable ellon, but it had become exceedingly clear that he was in no danger of losing his heart or head where Lanaewen was concerned. The reason for this did not reflect all that well on Lana, but at the moment Eluon did not care. He only wanted to be able to leave her without having to worry. Besides, he had seen the wink Minden had given Erudhien. Young Minden had another elleth on his mind tonight.

Erudhien led them down a set of steps, and across a bridge and then another bridge, and up and down various steps until Eluon and Iriel were completely lost. Soon after, however, Elanor joined them, hurrying up a set of steps with her skirt slightly lifted.

"Here I am!" she said, taking Erudhien's place as their guide. "Did you have a chance to rest?"

With a pang Eluon realized how much he had missed her. His Ataralassië, his joy. What had changed since those long ago days when he had held his newborn child in his arms? When had he stopped being the father he should have been to her? Even as this question entered his mind, he knew the answer.

It called to him, just as it called to Iriel. Every day, every night, like an ache without ease.

The sea.

As he so often did, he thrust the thought from his mind and instead paid heed to Elanor. She led them higher into the leafy canopy, pointing out various sights as they went while chatting amicably with her mother about the pretty gown Iriel was wearing. She moved carefully, as graceful as any elf, yet Eluon could see that the effects of her fall still haunted her, keeping her away from the edges of the stair. He paused for a moment to look over the edge, shuddering at the thought of his daughter falling. What had caused this accident? Haldir's explanations had been as insufficient as Elrond's letter. He would find out tonight, one way or another.

Elanor glanced over her shoulder. "Are you coming, Ada?"

Eluon smoothed his expression with a smile. "Of course, my dear. Are we almost there?" He could see walkways glittering far into the canopy of the forest, amazed the trees grew so large as to support the entire city in their branches.

"We are almost there." Elanor smiled slightly. "The climbing takes a bit of getting used to, but once you are here for awhile you never even think about it." She turned back toward the rising steps, but Eluon did not miss her quick glance at the edge of the stair.

Elrond was waiting at the door to his talan, greeting them cordially yet with a touch of formality. Soon they were settled into low chairs, each with a glass of fine red wine served by the Elf-lord to his guests.

Elanor sat quietly, her wineglass held between her hands, her smile slightly uneasy as she glanced at Elrond. Eluon sipped his wine while Iriel continued to chatter on about the years they had been apart and her lengthy visit with her sister in the land now known as Mirkwood. Elrond appeared interested, but whether he truly was or not was anyone's guess.

Meanwhile, Eluon was studying Elanor. She had always been quiet, even in her youth. Predictable and shy, she had tended to go off on her own, her best friends the flowers and trees around her. She had been so uncomplicated compared to Lana, so much less demanding for their time and attention. Had they neglected her? Perhaps so. Iriel had expected so much more of her than of Lana, perhaps because she was the eldest, perhaps because of her temperament. Whatever the case, it seemed that as parents they had made mistakes. If this were not so, Elanor would not be Haldir's ward, nor would Lana have been sent to Mirkwood in disgrace. But Iriel had yet to admit this to herself.

He knew his beloved wife loved both her daughters, but he was becoming increasingly aware that she had a blind eye when it came to Lana. They were alike in many ways, yet Lana was not the elleth her mother was. Lana was Iriel without her strengths, but might she develop them in time? He prayed to the Valar it would be so, and that he had not completely failed as a father. Yet Elanor had strengths, he reminded himself. Even now he could see subtle changes in her, changes in the way she held herself, the way she spoke or turned her head.

What had brought about these changes? Was it Haldir? Or someone else? And what else had changed that he had yet to discover?

There were many questions to be answered.

xxx

Telrion reached Túre's talan and stopped, staring longingly at her door. Was she inside? He had seen no one he knew well enough to ask while he made his way here, in a completely different part of the city from where his guest talan was. In his haste, he'd actually taken two wrong turns, so that it had taken him longer than it should have to get here.

His heart pounded as he lifted his hand and tapped lightly on the burnished wood. Silence prevailed and then he heard footsteps. Slowly, the door opened.

"Túre," he breathed, gazing at her face in dismay.

She had been crying, her lovely face blotched and reddened with tears. "Tel," she whispered, a hitch in her voice. "What took you so long?"

"I am so sorry," he said, and drew her into his arms. "I was delayed, but I am here now, my love."

She clung to him, half laughing and half crying, while he spread kisses across her tear-dampened face. "I was delayed too, by my duties in the kitchens. I ran here thinking you would be here and you weren't so I've been waiting. I thought . . . I feared . . . "

"That my heart had changed?" he asked her gently. "Not a chance."

Her eyes were moist, but she was smiling. "I am sorry. I should not have doubted you for an instant. Every moment you have been gone has been--"

"Excruciating," he finished. "I know, I know. I felt it too." His arm around her, he stepped farther into her talan and shut the door with his foot. "Come," he said firmly, "I am taking you to bed first. After we love, then I will tell you as many times as you need to hear it that the next time I leave this place you will be at my side . . . preferably as my wife, if you will have me."

"Your wife?" Túre's face turned stark white and then pink with shocked delight. "Oh Tel. Oh . . . " She threw her arms around him.

It was the last word she spoke for quite some time.

xxx

Dinner was over, and the two ellith who had brought and served their food had finally left. Elanor watched the way Elrond leaned back into his chair, and the way her father leaned forward in that deliberate and familiar manner. The moment she dreaded had arrived.

"Tell me," Eluon said calmly to Elrond, "what did my daughter do to deserve being sent to Caras Galadhon as Haldir's ward? Will you tell me or will Elanor? One of you must do so now."

Elanor tensed, her heart beating fast. Iriel lifted a hand and began to speak, but Eluon pressed his fingers over hers and she quieted. Elrond gave Elanor what appeared to be a warning glance, although it might have been only her imagination.

"I will explain," he said calmly.

Eluon nodded and sat back.

Elrond folded his hands. "I know it sounds odd that Elanor would fall into such mischief as to deserve being sent away from Imladris, but I think she will admit that it was more a gift than a punishment. You have been happy in Lórien, have you not, Elanor?"

"Indeed I have," she replied, wondering what he was going to say. From the corner of her eye, she saw her mother's eyebrows lift.

"I had felt for some time that Elanor would benefit from a change of . . . scenery, shall we say. She had begun to confine herself to too narrow a world, one that included her sister, her garden and very little else. So the actions she took where Haldir was concerned fell in perfectly with my plans." He glanced again at Elanor, this time with a faintly mischievous smile. Or was the mischief merely her imagination?

Her parents were absolutely silent and did not look convinced.

Unperturbed, Elrond continued, "Once I learned what she had done, I realized how I could use it to Elanor's advantage. Perhaps it was fate," he added reflectively, and took a sip of his wine. "It was Arwen's begetting day celebration as I think I mentioned in my letter. And, as is often the case when guests arrive, we had dinner and then dancing afterwards. Elanor, it seems, had a bit too much wine and inadvertently insulted Lórien's Marchwarden. She unjustly accused him of inappropriate behavior with Lana, and as much as it pains me to reiterate this, your younger daughter had done everything possible to make Elanor believe this was so."

Elanor lifted her chin, gratified that he had pointed this out.

Elrond smiled again, his eyes glinting with amusement. "I fear his tunic will never be the same. Is that not so, Elanor?"

"His tunic, my lord?" Elanor said weakly.

Elrond waved airily. "Yes, the one you threw my good wine on. The gold one with all that embroidery, the one Galadriel had given him."

Elanor blinked and then nodded. "Yes, it was ruined."

"This is the full extent of your crimes, Elanor?" Her father was frowning. "You ruined his tunic? It was a mistake, yes. An error of judgment. And yet I do not see that it was so very terrible."

"I slapped him too, Ada," Elanor added truthfully. "Very hard. And I said some dreadful things. He was highly insulted, and rightly so, for none of them were true."

"Oh, my," Iriel murmured softly. She sounded a little shocked, but not as shocked as Elanor had expected. "Elanor, what did you say?"

"I told him he was a scoundrel. And that he should be ashamed of himself and that--" Elanor stopped there, afraid to tell them much more than this. "Well, I do not remember now precisely what more I said. I was not nice."

Iriel sighed. "Still, I can imagine how it must have been for you, if you truly thought he had trifled with your sister. This Haldir seems so . . . so . . . cold."

"He is not cold, Nana. He is the most honorable ellon you will ever meet. I wronged him very badly and he did not deserve it." Elanor spoke softly yet firmly, praying that no more details would be revealed.

"He has treated you well?" Eluon demanded.

Elanor met her father's gaze squarely. "He has been more than fair, Ada. I admit I was angry at him at first, but I have learned to see behind that cool façade. I have learned to see his strength and his nobility, his compassion and kindness and, oh, so many positive qualities I could not name them all. I admire and respect him and consider myself fortunate to have met him. And . . . he has become very dear to me."

Her parents regarded her with open-mouthed astonishment.

Iriel glanced at Elrond as though wondering if she should say more in front of him. "What does that mean?" she inquired. "When you say he is dear to you?"

"It means that I love him," Elanor said quietly, not caring if Lord Elrond knew. "And that I will be staying on in Lórien."

Shock shone on her parents' faces.

"But this is wonderful news," Iriel said, to Elanor's astonishment. "My daughter, I cannot tell you how pleased I am."

Eluon turned to his wife. "I think we should discuss this later, my dear." He turned to Elanor. "I would like to know how you came to fall and be injured, Elanor. Was Haldir not there to protect you?"

Elanor looked down, her fingers absently plucking at her skirt. "It was to save Haldir that I took the action I did. He and . . . another ellon were having a swordfight—"

"A swordfight!" Eluon interrupted. "Here, in the heights of the mellyrn?"

"Yes," said Elanor. "It is difficult to explain." She glanced at Elrond, who read the message in her eyes and took over.

"Haldir was defending Elanor's honor," Elrond cut in. "One of the sentinels behaved dishonorably toward your daughter, and Haldir made the decision to deal with him right there. It is a decision he regrets, I am sure."

Now Iriel was looking shocked. "Someone threatened your honor, Elanor?"

"It was not me he wanted, Nana. He only wished to anger Haldir so that he would fight him. They have a kind of feud going between them."

Iriel made a disapproving click of her tongue. "Dear me, a hot temper behind all that coolness. I am not so sure this Galadhel is the right ellon for you, Elanor." She turned to Elrond. "You know him, Elrond. What is your opinion?"

Elrond rose to his feet, his gaze on Iriel. "Since you ask, Iriel, I will tell you that your daughter chooses wisely. I have great respect for Haldir. If Elanor wishes to stay with him, I know she will be in honorable and capable hands." He hesitated for a moment. "If my own daughter made such a choice, I would be very pleased." These last words were uttered in a toneless voice that Elanor knew must cover very deep feelings.

Neither of her parents replied immediately, but at last Iriel nodded, saying, "Then I shall accept him as well."

"I would hear the rest of the story," Eluon added. "How was my daughter saved? What were the extent of her injuries and do any yet linger?"

Elanor remained silent while Elrond told the tale of how Galadriel foresaw the event in her mirror, how Celeborn had snatched her from the air, and how Haldir and her many friends had stayed near while she healed. "I was not here at the time," Elrond explained, "but this is what has been told to me. As for her well-being, she should answer that herself."

Everyone looked at Elanor.

"I am healed," she said with a small smile. "My bones are mended, my bruises and scrapes are faded. It may take some time before I stand on the edge of a flet, but otherwise, I am well, whole, and very happy."

Eluon sighed. "Well, let us hope that such doings are finished. This sentinel was disciplined?"

"They were both reprimanded," Elrond said. "Haldir is no longer Elanor's guardian. She is now Galadriel's ward."

"Oh my," Iriel said, looking rather impressed. "The Lady of Lórien herself! That is a great honor, Elanor. I trust you will do nothing more that would be considered reckless."

"I will try not to, Naneth," Elanor said with a wry smile, "but I can make no promises."

Lord Elrond chuckled at her response. "I felt sure Lórien would be good for you, Elanor. I am glad to know I was right."

xxx

Elanor waited until she knew for certain that her entire family was abed. She had walked her parents back to their guest talan when it was over, and spent more time reassuring them about Haldir as well as the state of her health. Back in the talan, they had found Lana and Minden, playing cards of all things. One look at Minden's face had almost made Elanor burst out laughing, since Lana had apparently been beating him all evening. Her sister looked as though she had been well entertained and fed, and declared herself to be satisfied to have escaped a 'boring dinner' with Lord Elrond.

Eventually they were settled. Elanor had brushed her mother's hair, kissed her father, soothed her sister, and at last made her escape. She then returned to her own talan to change her clothes, wash and wait for things to settle. While she waited, she mulled over the way the evening had unfolded, analyzing her reactions to her reunion with her family as well as the conversations that had taken place.

All in all, it had gone better than she had expected. Thanks to Lord Elrond, her family had been spared details that Elanor never wished them to know. Now that it was over, her tension had slid away like a forgotten dream, replaced now with a different kind of tension, one that shimmered warmly through her body with growing urgency.

She examined herself in her mirror from different angles. She had put on her most alluring gown, one made of a pale green fabric so light and gossamer soft that she almost felt naked in it. It tantalized and yet concealed just enough for modesty . . . she hoped. It had always been intended for this purpose, ever since Doria had made it for her during her recovery period, out of cloth she had set aside just for Elanor.

Satisfied with her appearance, Elanor draped a concealing wrap around her shoulders and left her talan. Her destination was not far; Galadriel had been kind in that regard. At his door, she reached for the latch with easy familiarity, easing it up so that the door swung soundlessly open. Inside, she lowered the privacy latch and hung her wrap on a hook.

She found him on the terrace gazing up at the night sky, his hair aglow with the silvery moonlight filtering downward through the branches. She stopped short, her admiring gaze taking him in while her heart danced with joy that he was here at last, so very close to her. His feet were bare, he wore only a loose shirt and leggings, and he looked so dear and so utterly . . . breathtaking.

"Elanor," he said without turning, "should you not be with your family tonight?"

"I _was_ with them, Haldir. Now they rest, and I am free to be with you."

He swung around, his gaze meeting hers for only an instant before making a smoldering assessment of her attire. "I trust you do not wear that gown in public. I would like to think that it is only for me."

"It _is_ only for you." She closed the distance between them, moving straight into the protective circle of his arms. How wonderful and strong he was, and how right and perfect it felt to be with him like this!

He smoothed a hand over her hair. "I did not expect to see you tonight," he murmured, holding her close.

She drew back enough to see into his eyes. "Because of my family? Haldir, I told my parents tonight how I feel about you. They will accept you, do not worry. They could not keep me away from you, nor would they do such a thing if they could."

"I was not worried." His thumbs made slow, sensual circles against her back. "What did you tell them?" He was hiding his concern, replacing it with that steely determination to have his own way that could sometimes be so irksome.

"I told them how dear you are to me," she said in a tender voice, "and that I will be staying here in Lórien to be with you. They have accepted my decision."

"Good." One corner of his mouth lifted, and a thread of seduction wove into his voice. "That makes it easier for me to have what I want."

"Oh?" She tilted her head provocatively. "What do you want?"

"You," he said huskily. "I want you, Elanor."

"You have me." She trailed her fingers up his arm. "You know this."

"Aye, I do."

He spread tiny kisses across her temple, then took her face between his hands and kissed her, deeply and passionately. "I missed you. Every day we were parted I thought of you. Every night I have wanted you. You filled my dreams." His mouth moved to the curve of her throat.

She smiled and tilted her head back, her eyes half closed. "And now you can fill me," she said playfully, and felt him smile against her skin.

"Oh, I will, my love, many times. I burn for you." He slid his hands over her in a loving caress, molding his palms to her curves. "Did you miss me?"

"Yes, with all my heart," she said, shivering at his touch. "More than I can ever say."

With increased ardor, he captured her mouth again. She laced her fingers into the softness of his hair and returned the kiss, her head spinning with delicious arousal blended with the seductive throb of the indwaedh. The velvet dark of the night enveloped them, the fluttering rustle of the leaves providing a symphony of sounds that somehow enhanced her awareness of him. Flooded with happiness, she smoothed her palms over his contours, easing her fingers beneath his shirt and across the broad expanse of his back and shoulders. His skin was warm, smooth yet corded with muscles, soft and yet solid, and intensely masculine.

With focused attention, he pushed the fabric of her gown down her arms, baring her upper body to his gaze. His hands cupped her breasts, lifting them slightly while his thumbs drew lazy circles around their tips. "All day I have felt you," he murmured. "Your essence wraps around me as though I am breathing you. All these hours I have thought of little else other than doing . . . exactly what we are doing . . . ." His voice trailed off.

Bending down, he followed the curve of her throat with his mouth, tasting his way along her shoulder and collarbone while he eased the gown down her body, slowly, taking exquisite care to follow its path with his lips. Elanor closed her eyes, then gave a slight gasp as his teeth closed lightly on her skin, not painful but enough to arouse. "Haldir," she protested, though not with any force.

He smiled and kissed her in the place he had just nipped, murmuring soft endearments while she tugged at his shirt, compelling him to straighten so she could remove it and toss it alongside her gown.

"There," she said, "that is better," and then drew in her breath as he slid his hand down her hip, a feather stroke that left molten fire in its wake. In the next instant he caught her mouth again, his tongue hot and insistent, his passion and power enfolding her like a lush, sensual fog.

He moved around behind her, shifting her hair to bare her neck to the scorching path of his lips. Deliberately, he pressed himself against her so she could feel how much he wanted her, the stiff contact sending an erotic jolt to her core. She swayed slightly, shivering in delight as he slowly and thoroughly worked his way up to her ear, flicking it with his tongue while his skillful fingers wrought their magic on her naked breasts.

She made a sound, a low whimper of need, and then she turned in his arms, the urge to touch him more intimately propelling her fingers downward. She tugged at his leggings, unlacing them enough that she could slide her fingers inside and fondle him, but after a few moments of this, his breath hissed out and he clamped his hand on her wrist.

"Not so fast, my love. You are impatient tonight."

She curled an arm around his neck and pulled his face close to hers. "Very," she said softly. "Take me to bed."

"Oh, I intend to." Desire thickened his voice.

With a low chuckle, he lifted her and carried her inside, setting her gently on her feet beside his bed. She smiled up at him. Gone was any sense of modesty or restraint, for at this point she knew exactly what to do and how to do it. Luxuriously sure of herself, she undressed him slowly and teasingly, touching and stroking him while he breathed deeply and watched her with keen appreciation.

She urged him down onto the bed's edge, then bent close to his ear. "You are mine," she whispered. "Do you hear me, Haldir?"

"I hear you." He smiled in a way that turned her knees to water. "And yes, I am indeed yours, Elanor. You have my vow."

Their eyes locked, and then she planted one hand firmly on his chest and pushed him backward, guiding him onto the pillows. Bending over him, she kissed his mouth and then began to make love to him, slowly, using all that she had learned, working her way down his body, tasting and teasing him until he was restless and shuddering with need.

"You like this?" she asked, her tone seductive.

He made a low sound that she took as an affirmative, but before she could resume her efforts, he sat up and pulled her to him, kissing her deeply and hungrily. Soon her hips met the bed, and then she was lying open for him while he played the same game she had played, suckling at her breasts, kissing her belly and thighs, his lips and fingertips roving, spreading fire wherever they went.

She widened her legs trustingly, whimpering with delight as he went lower still, expanding the hot ache that was already almost more than she could bear. Her heart pounded and her body shook, straining to reach that perfect place where she could shatter, but when she felt it approach, she resisted it and reached down to touch his shoulder.

"Take me now," she gasped. "I want you now, Haldir."

He lifted his head. His look burned her, and then he lowered his lashes and shifted his weight upward, positioning himself between her legs. "You have me," he said roughly.

He began to move, pressing into her, the heavy thickness of him making her whole in a way that would once have seemed unimaginable. Slowly at first and then quickly he thrust into her, filling her the way she wanted to be filled, his hips finding a perfect and powerful rhythm. She gripped his arms and moved with him, shifting her hips slightly to increase her own pleasure. Nothing else was real, only this . . . only him . . . a blaze of silver light in the dark, potent and magnificently male.

Soft moans escaped her as the feeling built, a rising thrill taking them higher and higher until it happened at last, the pinnacle of all sensation, the ageless song of love reaching its shattering crescendo. And once again, like that other time in the woods, she felt the brief touch of Haldir's fëa on hers, adding a unique, feather-light shimmer to what was already pure rapture.

Her body quivering with blissful aftershocks, Elanor gulped air and clung to him while he kissed her brow and held her against him, murmuring sweet, soothing words into her ear. He too was breathing hard, his chest rising and falling as he gradually adjusted to the aftermath of release.

"I love you," Elanor whispered finally, when she could speak again.

Eventually, after a period of silence, he said quietly, "And I love you, Elanor. You are my joy and I wish I could ask . . . " He paused as though he fought with himself. "I cannot say the words I wish to say at this time. I feel that I should wait until the year is done, when you are no longer anyone's ward."

She had been resting her head on his chest, but at this she raised up to look into his gray eyes. "I wish you would not wait," she said.

Again he was silent, as though he weighed something within his mind. "I feel I must, even though above all things I wish to please you. What I _can_ say is that I know you are the one I have waited for all these many long years. I have argued within myself, saying that I am too old and you are too young. I have told myself you should have a chance to know others . . . as you have come to know me. But I do not want that. You are mine and I will yield you to no other."

"Yes, I am yours," she agreed with a tremulous smile. "I am completely yours, Haldir. I want no other and never will."

"Good," he said rather smugly, as though the admission had been a great accomplishment on his part. "Then we understand each other."

She released a sigh. "I also understand that you are not going to ask me to marry you until you are good and ready, because you are the most stubborn ellon in all of Arda."

"But an exceptionally good lover," he pointed out.

She laughed. "Oh, you think that makes up for it?"

"I know it does, Elanor."

And he proceeded to prove it.

tbc


	35. Chapter ThirtyFive

**Chapter Thirty-Five**

As the first light of dawn crept into the sleeping chamber, Elanor rolled over and looked at Haldir, who was lying on his back, resting peacefully. Too peacefully, she decided, and poked him with her fingers. "Haldir, what was Lurien doing with my sister?"

Haldir turned his head to look at her. "He was doing what I told him to do. Keeping her out of my hair."

She raised herself up on one elbow. "Do you think that is wise? I mean, Lana is so young, and Lurien is so--" She broke off when she saw Haldir's grin. "What is so amusing?"

"You, Elanor." He reached out and pulled her over so she was mostly on top of him. "Already you are worrying when there is no need."

"How do I know there is no need? Lurien has behaved in the most dastardly manner, and my sister is susceptible to any kind of flattery."

"Perhaps so, but she will not get it from Lurien. He is in love with Tarwë."

"If so, he does not show it. Have you already forgotten how he behaved toward me? And I am—"

"Suspicious," he filled in. "Trust me, Elanor, your sister is safe from Lurien."

She gazed down at him, her fingers playing with his hair. "You are sure of this?"

"I am sure, Elanor."

"I am going to talk to Lurien myself," she said pensively. "I have not spoken with him since . . . . " Memories of Lurien standing in Haldir's talan, taunting her, returned to her mind, and she did not complete the sentence.

"You will find him changed," he said gently.

She raised a skeptical eyebrow. "That is hard to believe. How do you know it is not a trick of some kind?"

He sighed. "Because I know him, that is why. Are you certain you are ready to speak with him? I sense much conflict in you."

"I am ready," she said firmly.

He studied her for a moment, before saying, "Lurien has something he wishes to discuss, unrelated to your sister. He mentioned it to me before we left for the Fences. I told him he would have to wait until you healed before he spoke of it to you."

She frowned, shifting her weight slightly. "What is this about?"

He regarded her with tenderness, yet seemed to hesitate in his reply. "I think Lurien should tell you himself. It seems important to him."

Elanor almost asked him why he would care what was important to Lurien, but something in his tone stopped her. Instead she said, "Very well, I will listen to what he has to say, but I shall also tell him to stay away from Lana. It cannot hurt to warn him just in case you are wrong."

He made a low sound of amusement. "Elanor, you are a stubborn elleth."

She leaned down and kissed his chest. "Does that also mean I am an exceptionally good lover? You seemed to draw some connection between the two last night."

Haldir's hands closed around her upper arms, pulling her up so that her mouth aligned with his. "Is it possible you do not know how much you please me?" The sentence was interspersed with tiny kisses on her mouth.

She smiled. "Is it possible that after all the attention I gave you during the night, you are in need of more?" she whispered, wriggling against that part of him that was already giving her an answer.

"Is it possible to receive more of Elanor's exceptional attentions or is she too weary from last night?"

She kissed him lightly and then again, lingeringly. "Is it possible you do not know that Elanor is always eager for more of Haldir?"

Haldir slowly rolled over, taking her with him so that she now lay pinned beneath him. "Is it possible," he said seductively, "that you would like to bathe me and then prepare my breakfast?"

"I _am_ your breakfast," she said naughtily.

"Indeed you are. But that kind of breakfast I would like in the tub."

She wrapped her legs around his hips and hooked her ankles together. "So now I must decide whether or not to let you have your way again."

He teased her with a tiny movement of his hips. "Decide quickly, my love, because you are in a very enticing position right now. I have told you my preference, but I will take my breakfast right here if need be."

"A bath does sound lovely," she admitted.

As they rose from the bed, she noticed that Haldir's smile had turned complacent, probably because he was getting what he wanted. But if truth be told she did not mind, not when his wishes coincided so well with her own. She loved to bathe with him. She would take this opportunity to show him once again how very much she loved and cherished him. Afterward, she would tell him that they were meeting her parents for breakfast.

xxx

"Ada, do you not think that I should be staying with Elanor?" Lana inquired as she reached for a biscuit. They had been shown the way to the common dining area, where the majority of the elves broke their fast each day. It was in a large clearing under the trees, with various wooden tables and benches set up, and a long table filled with various food items to choose from.

"Not if she does not wish it," Eluon objected mildly. "Remember, my dear, your sister has a new life here. We must respect her privacy."

Lana tossed back her hair. "But why would she need to be private from me? I am her sister. She ought to be here with us now instead of wherever she is."

Eluon watched his daughter's eyes wandering over the various ellyn seated at nearby tables; she was trying to attract their attention, or perhaps she was only ascertaining if any of them had noticed her. It was clear to him that they had, but it was also apparent that they were too polite and discreet to make it obvious.

"Lanaewen, my dear, please do not stare so," he said with exasperation. "It is not fitting."

"I am not staring! Why should I not look around? Everything is so different here. You and Nana look around!"

"We do not stare at ellyn," Iriel remonstrated softly, tearing off a small piece of sweet, freshly baked bread. "My daughter, you must not begrudge your sister her place here or her newfound happiness."

"Her happiness?" Lana echoed suspiciously. "What is she so happy about?"

Eluon exchanged a glance with his wife. They had not had an opportunity to discuss privately what they would say to their younger daughter about Elanor's situation. "Your sister is quite content here in Lórien," he said carefully. "She plans to remain and make her home here."

Lana dropped her biscuit, her indignant gaze shifting back and forth between her two parents. "She cannot do that! She has to come back to Imladris with us!" She looked alarmed and annoyed, but also distraught enough for Eluon to be concerned.

"Elanor may do as she pleases," he said in a reasonable voice. "You must accept that and be happy for her. She loves Haldir and wishes to remain with him."

Lana turned white. "That is not possible!"

"Why not, my dear?" Iriel's brows had lifted.

"Because . . . everything will change, and I do not want it to change. I want us all to go home together and be a family again."

Eluon's heart sank. "Lanaewen . . . " he said helplessly. If she reacted like this to the news that her sister wished to stay in Lórien, how much worse would it be when she learned what he and her mother wished to do? How many long years would they be forced to wait before they could sail? The thought tore him in two.

"Sometimes things _must_ change," Iriel inserted quietly, "despite our wishes."

"Look," said Eluon, as Lana opened her mouth to object, "there is Elanor now. She is with Haldir," he added for Iriel's benefit, since she was not facing the right direction to see them. He watched his daughter thread her way toward them, once more noting how poised she was and how confidently she moved. Haldir followed behind her as though he had the right and the authority to do so, as a bond-mate would do. The thought seemed odd, and yet strangely right to Eluon. He smiled as they came up.

"Good morning, Ada." Elanor bent to kiss his cheek, then added greetings to her mother and sister on the other side of the table.

Eluon watched his younger daughter's face as Elanor and Haldir sat down. He could not decide if Lana was jealous or merely suffering from a lack of confidence and maturity. Her face had turned a little pink, no doubt due to the memory of her injudicious behavior in Imladris. To Haldir's credit, he gave no indication that he recollected Lanaewen, for which Eluon was grateful. Lana's indiscretion where Haldir was concerned was something that Eluon would prefer to forget, and he was sure Haldir felt the same.

The ensuing conversation wound its way through a number of topics, including Elanor's introduction to archery and her inclusion in some kind of competition. Eluon observed Haldir carefully, marking the undercurrent of pride in his voice as he praised Elanor for her courage and persistence. It was obvious now that he saw them together that this Lórien elf loved his daughter, yet was restrained enough to be discreet about it in the presence of her parents. Would he take care of Elanor as her father wished her to be cared for? It was worrisome to know that he would stand guard at Lórien's Fences for many years to come, yet that was no reason for Elanor not to love him. If anything, she would love him all the more for his willingness to serve in that capacity. And Elrond had spoken highly of him.

Of course neither of them had mentioned marriage, but Eluon guessed it was on their minds. It was in the way they sat, slightly closer than was normal, and in the way their eyes met and held whenever they looked at each other.

Eluon waited for the next brief lull in the conversation and then addressed Haldir. "Elanor tells me she plans to remain here in Lórien," he said casually.

The Marchwarden's gray eyes met Eluon's with straightforward candor. "I am glad. It is my greatest wish."

Pleased, Eluon nodded. "I am glad to hear it. Will you be staying here in the city for a while?"

"I will remain for a few days, yes. Then I must return to my duty." He glanced at Elanor as he spoke, and Eluon could see the look that passed between them. It was difficult for them to be parted, but also necessary.

Eluon sighed inwardly. If these two bonded, it would ease his heart to know Elanor had found her life-mate. She had not known Haldir long, but how long had he known Iriel before he knew she was the one? Days? No more than two weeks at most, he recalled. In fact, a part of him had known the instant he'd set eyes on her.

""Tis a shame you leave so soon," Iriel commented. She was watching Haldir closely, her clear blue eyes evaluating him with a shrewdness that Eluon knew only too well. "Since our daughter is choosing to remain here because of you, I would enjoy furthering our acquaintance."

Eluon could tell she was displeased that Haldir would leave so soon, and was wondering if he was using duty as an excuse to avoid interacting with Elanor's parents.

Haldir lifted one of those dark brows. "Surely you will stay a while in Lórien now that you are here?"

"We will stay long enough to see our daughter settled and be sure that she is happy," Iriel informed him. Her tone was gentle but meaningful.

"Naneth . . ." Elanor began, but Haldir's arm moved slightly, telling Eluon that he had stilled her with his hand.

"I am pleased to hear it," the Marchwarden said calmly. "That will give us ample time to become acquainted. I would have it no other way." His keen gaze rested on Iriel's face. "Elanor's happiness is of immense importance to me. I am glad to know you share my sentiments."

Iriel's nostrils flared slightly. "Did you doubt it?"

"Not at all," Haldir said politely, his voice and gaze steady.

"My dear," Eluon interjected, "I am sure Haldir meant no offense."

Iriel smiled ruefully. "I know. I fear I suffer some remorse for leaving Elanor on her own for so long. I am a little sensitive, I suppose. Forgive me," she added to Haldir, who nodded courteously and somewhat aloofly.

Lana had been unusually silent during this exchange, and it was at this point that Eluon noticed where her attention lay. The sons of Elrond had been circulating among the tables, flirting blatantly and audaciously with every elleth they met, married or unwed. Many feminine eyes followed them, with smiles lingering on upward curving lips. The twins were clearly as popular here in Lórien as they were in Imladris, their dark bold looks perhaps earning them even more admiration in this land of blonds. But Eluon knew his daughter did not like the twins, so why was she so interested in their movements?

They were making their way toward Eluon's table, where they stopped and smiled at the gathered group. "I trust you have recovered from our travels," Elrohir remarked, with Elladan adding, "and are enjoying this enchanting city." They proceeded to compliment Iriel, inquire on the state of Elanor's health, invite Eluon to dine with them some evening, and tease the Marchwarden about neglecting his duty for the company of pretty ellith. They then turned their attentions on Lanaewen, rather to Eluon's surprise, since he'd believed the dislike between his daughter and the twin sons of Elrond was heartily mutual.

"How fare you this morning, fair lady?" Elladan inquired.

"You appear to be in the full bloom of your natural beauty," Elrohir added. "Not that you ever lost it, but you seemed a bit out of sorts during our travels."

Lana's gaze shifted warily between the two identical faces. "I cannot believe you care, either of you."

Eluon opened his mouth to protest, but then thought better of it and waited to see how the two ellyn would respond.

Elrohir looked wounded. "You wrong us, lovely one. It is true that we are mischievous, but we also care about your well-being. How could we not?"

"Indeed," Elladan agreed, his voice serious, "you are one of our own, from Imladris, and certainly one of the fairest who resides there."

Lana glanced around, as if to see how many of the Lothlórien ellith had heard this statement. "What do you want?" she asked in a slightly mollified tone.

"Only the pleasure of your company." Elrohir smiled such a disarming smile that Eluon was suspicious, but still he said nothing. He exchanged a glance with Iriel, whose face told him that she too was suspicious.

"We thought we could take you on a little tour," Elladan explained. "Introduce you to a few people and show you some of the most enchanting sights."

"My daughter will remain with us," Iriel interjected coolly.

But Lana bristled. "Surely that should be my decision, Naneth."

Iriel said nothing, as Eluon had expected. Iriel had never quite known how to respond to Lana's moods or demands, and although she sometimes made token objections, she often backed down or gave in, as though anything more was just too much effort. Yet, to give her fair credit, Lana really ought to be able to make her own decisions on something like this.

Meanwhile, Elrohir was bowing, and Elladan was offering his arm. Lana was clearly flattered, and really, what harm could she come to in such company? The twins might be mischievous, but they were never cruel, nor were they likely to injure her. Eluon relaxed, and instead found himself watching first Elanor and then Haldir. Elanor did not look worried, but Haldir, well, one of those dark brows had risen just a little. Eluon wondered what it meant, but did not ask.

xxx

Aside from a short visit from his sister Doria, Lurien had spent most of his first evening back in the city alone in his talan. He had gone to visit Tarwë, hoping to find that she had missed him, but instead he discovered she had company—specifically an ellon whom Lurien has reason to know had once been her lover. Back then he had only laughed and teased her about spurning him for another, but now he did not find it so amusing. Still, he had sat with them on Tarwë's terrace, making gracious conversation for as long as he could endure it. Eventually it became apparent that the other ellon had no intention of leaving. So Lurien had left, and even managed to rein in his temper although it had been a challenge when he had been so frustrated.

That had been yesterday, and so far today he had fared no better. Obviously Tarwë was still set on keeping her distance. He did not like it, but there seemed to be little he could do about it. It was not in his nature to yield on a matter like this, but he dared not risk any kind of altercation with a potential rival. Other tactics were called for and he knew it. Patience, attentiveness, persistence, consideration, fortitude—these would be his weapons from now on.

Whether or not his so-called rival had shared her bed last night he did not know; he tried not to think about it, for the mere idea filled him with jealousy and sadness. At the same time he knew all too well that he deserved such treatment, and a part of him commended Tarwë for her tactics. The other part ground his teeth.

Thus it was that when the tap on his door came, his heart leaped with the hope that it was she. Yet it was not; it was only Elanor, looking a bit pale, yet also determined, judging from the set of her jaw.

"May I speak with you for a moment?" she asked in a calm and cool voice.

Lurien stepped aside, holding his door open. "Certainly. As it happens, I wish to speak to you as well." He looked over her shoulder, expecting to see Haldir, but to his surprise she had come alone. Thinking she might feel more comfortable on the terrace, he led her across the room and out onto the small and lovely area he so cherished.

Elanor glanced around, as though to assure herself that she was safe, then turned to face him. "I am here for one reason and that is to speak to you about my sister." She lifted her chin, managing to look both stubborn and slightly fierce. "Haldir says she is safe from you, but I have come for your promise that you will leave her alone. She is very young and . . . and sometimes unable to appreciate the ramifications of her decisions. You will _not_ toy with her! Do you hear me, Lurien?"

Lurien stared, fighting a wild urge to laugh. Dare he tell her that he had already forgotten her silly sister? Nay, not wise, but something had to be said. "I fully comprehend your distrust," he said carefully, "and I acknowledge that my past behavior has been, to put it bluntly, reprehensible. But I swear to you, upon whatever tatters are left of my honor, that your sister is safe from me. You have my vow."

He read the disbelief in her eyes. "Why should I trust you?" she asked. "Give me a reason I can believe."

He turned away from her, searching for words to express what he felt in a way that she could accept as true. "While you lay broken in the healing talan, they did not let me near you," he said. "I wanted to come and tell you how sorry I was. Never did I dream that I could be the cause of such a horrible occurrence. Whether you believe it or not, I suffered along with you. That first night after you fell . . . for me, it seemed to last a hundred years. Every moment that passed was an eternity during which I examined myself, and my life, from every conceivable angle." He swung around to face her, meeting her gaze squarely. "It was agony like I had never known. For perhaps the first time I saw who I really was, what I had become, and . . . it was not a pretty sight." He kept his voice steady, striving to put matter-of-factness in his tone. "To know that one has failed so miserably, to have lost everything, perhaps even the elleth I love . . . it was sheer torment on a scale I would wish on no one else."

"I am sorry, Lurien," she said, her gaze on his face. "I have never sought your suffering, and I do not wish it now. Perhaps you have not lost the love of this elleth. Do we speak of Tarwë?"

After a moment's hesitation, he nodded jerkily. "Yes, Tarwë. I have loved her for many years. I know that may be difficult to believe, given your knowledge of me, but it is true. All that I have done, in my madness, has jeopardized what chance I have of winning her. The madness is at an end, but I am not sure she believes it."

Elanor's face softened slightly. "In time, I trust you will be able to convince her. I am very fond of Tarwë and want nothing more for her than happiness."

"Then we share a common goal, for I seek her happiness as well as her love," he stated, far more humbly than he'd intended. Suddenly, he felt himself flush, something so uncharacteristic of him that he started to chuckle. He bowed slightly, his hand on his heart. "Forgive me if I am too candid, but you see now why I find your sister of no interest. It is only Tarwë I want. I know not if she will ever accept me and if she does not, then . . . so be it. But I will accept no substitute."

Elanor's blue eyes searched his. "I am amazed to find that I believe you, Lurien. Should I?"

"Yes, indeed you should, for I am in earnest," he said gravely. "Your faith in me will not be betrayed this time, or ever again."

He invited her to sit, watching while she chose one end of a carved bench surrounded by plants and vines. He then joined her, being careful to put sufficient distance between them so as to do nothing that would alarm her or prevent her from listening to what he had to say. Oddly, he did trust Elanor to give him a chance, far more than he had Haldir. No longer did he see her as weak; now he welcomed her compassion and lack of rigidity.

And so he told her about his idea, his plan to build a bridge in the place where she had fallen. It would be, he explained, not only a convenience for their people, but a reminder to all of the folly of anger and hatred. "I have learned my lesson," he said evenly, "and in a most painful way. It is not the kind of pain you suffered, Elanor, but it still cuts deeply." He shifted slightly, and drew a deep breath. "In any case, I wish to contribute something new, something beautiful that will benefit others. This is an act of atonement. But the Lord and Lady say I must have your permission as well as Haldir's." He waited hopefully, watching the various fluctuations in her expression.

"You do not have to do this," she said finally. "I am willing to forgive you as long as you have truly mended your ways. Time will be the surest measure of that."

He smiled ruefully. "True enough, and I am grateful for your clemency. But building this bridge is something I very much wish to do." He paused, adding with difficulty, "I am no longer a Sentinel and have no official duties. Therefore, I must find something useful to do with my time."

"What of the Fences? Duty there does not suit you?"

He lifted his chin, aware of his own sensitivity on this matter. "I was not afraid, if that is what you are asking. But I am not a warden, and I have no sword. Haldir merely invited me to keep me away from you. I doubt he will repeat the invitation."

Elanor absently smoothed her fingers over the dark green leaves of a nearby vine. "What will this bridge look like?"

"Would you care to see my design? I would be glad to show you." In fact, he had shown it to no one other than Celeborn and Galadriel, but their reactions had been encouraging enough to give him confidence.

She acquiesced, and he retrieved it from inside his talan, returning to sit beside her once more while he unrolled the parchment that contained his drawing. He then pointed out all the features he'd attempted to sketch, the graceful wooden posts carved with interwoven vines, each connected with the next by an intricate pattern of braided ropes. At the top of each post was a recessed area into which the base of a small urn could be set, and into each urn would be placed an elanor plant.

"As a tribute to you," he explained. He hoped it would please her, but pleasing her was not his only reason for adding the urns. This was not only a tribute, it was another form of apology, one meant to make at least partial reparation for the way he had treated her and the pain that he had caused.

She glanced up at him. "It will be beautiful, Lurien, but there is no reason to honor me like this. I have done nothing to deserve it."

Lurien smiled. "You are modest, Elanor. If you like, we can say that it honors your actions. You risked your life to save the one you love, and almost lost your own."

"But any of us would do that," she protested.

"True," he acknowledged. "We can put other flowers in the urns if you prefer. Perhaps elanor alternating with other blooms."

"That would be lovely, Lurien. If you do indeed require my permission, then you have it. What did Haldir say about it?"

"He neither approved nor disapproved. I believe he desired your opinion before he chose his own."

Elanor smiled. "Haldir, without an opinion? That is hard to believe."

Lurien cocked a brow. "I daresay he had one he did not reveal."

"I daresay," she agreed, and took her leave.

xxx

Elrohir concealed a grin as Lana huffed and puffed up a new flight of stairs. They had dragged her from one person to another, introducing her to a variety of elves, all of whom had praised Elanor to Lana and expressed consternation at her recent injuries. She was obviously irritated, but she had also been introduced to a number of handsome, unmarried ellyn, and that had kept her happy enough. The fact that they took the most roundabout route to each of these ellyn was not made known to her; in one case they had led her halfway around the city to meet someone who had been located no more than a stone's throw away!

"I am tired," she wailed for the third time. "Can we not take a moment to rest?"

"First you must meet Sarnion," Elrohir insisted with his most charming smile. "He asked about you just this morning, and made me promise to introduce him to your notice. He is dumbstruck by your beauty, but too shy to introduce himself."

This was a secret joke between him and his brother, for they knew that Sarnion, a confirmed and rather brusque bachelor, would have no more interest in Lana than he would a Gondorian serving wench. Her beauty would not sway him; he was far too old and experienced for anything but an elleth's character and disposition to weigh with him. If anyone could put Lana in her place, it would be Sarnion.

"He is very handsome," Elrohir added slyly. "Quite a catch, in fact. He's a warden, one of Haldir's most trusted lieutenants."

"A bit aloof," Elladan added, "which is probably why the ellith find him so fascinating."

Lana brushed back her golden hair. "What of that ellon, Lurien? He seems very mysterious."

It was the third time she had mentioned Lurien, and Elrohir could see that she needed to be set straight. "He is not for you," he said, with far more directness than he normally used. "For several reasons, all good ones."

"What reasons?" she said with a pout.

Elrohir suppressed an urge to roll his eyes.

"Firstly," he said, "he is in love with someone." He did not know if the rumors were true, nor did he know if this would be a deterrent, but he did know they ought to direct Lana's attention away from the wayward ex-sentinel, and that his father would have their heads if they did not.

"And," Elladan continued, loyally backing up the story, "she is a sweet lady who has suffered enough on his behalf."

"He is currently in disgrace for dishonorable doings," Elrohir went on.

"It is he who fought Haldir, which makes him partly responsible for your sister's near fatal accident," Elladan added.

Lana eyed them both with disfavor. "I do not believe you. He seems so honorable and good. As for Elanor, I do not believe the story of her accident either. I think,"—here, she tossed her hair and put on that petulant look that so irritated him—"she exaggerated her injury to get sympathy. I think she did it to make Haldir feel sorry for being so mean to her."

Elrohir exchanged a glance with his brother. At last, the opportunity they had been waiting for! "My dear Lana, your sister fell a great distance. Do you not realize that?"

Lana shrugged. "So, someone caught her. How bad could that be?"

"Would you like to see where she fell?" Elladan asked, ever so casually.

"Not really." She shifted irritably. "I am tired, I told you that. Why do you not take me to meet this Sarnion? We can visit with him, and he can serve refreshments, which I sorely need."

"Oh, but we are so close to where your sister fell," Elrohir coaxed. "If you do not see it now, we will have to bring you back another day."

"Why?" she asked mutinously.

"Because a dutiful and loving sister would be interested," Elladan pointed out, "as I know you are, if you would just reflect upon it. After that, we will take you to meet Sarnion. I know he will be delighted to meet the beauteous maiden from Imladris whom he has only seen from afar."

A myriad of expressions crossed Lana's face, but finally she said, rather crossly, "Oh, very well, take me there. I might as well see it and get it over with."

Elrohir smiled, and Elladan offered Lana his arm. She had been preening ever since they'd left the dining area, for she had 'captured' the attention of the sons of Elrond in view of all the Lórien ellith, something she obviously thought to be a victory of some kind. He and Elladan had deliberately flirted with the other ellith, hoping to goad Lana into accepting their offer to escort her around the city. She had taken the bait as he had known she would. However, their company appeared to wear thin whenever they were beyond the view of others.

Within a short time they came to the flet where the fight had ended with such a shocking event. "Here is where she fell," Elladan said, pointing.

Lana gave a cursory glance, and then looked quickly away.

"Look again," Elrohir commanded, stepping close to her. "You can see how far it is. Imagine how she must have felt."

"I do not want to," she said sulkily. "I want to go."

"Not quite yet," he said, with a slight smile. "I think a little lesson is called for right now."

She gave him a sharp look. "Lesson?"

He caught hold of her wrists. "You dismiss your sister's suffering far too lightly. Perhaps it is because you have not stood in her shoes."

"Perchance if she were held over the edge it might give her some insight," Elladan suggested helpfully.

"What a splendid idea," Elrohir marveled. "What do you say, Lana? Shall I hold you over the edge?"

"I do not find you amusing!" she snapped.

He took a step forward, backing her to the very edge of the flet. "If you hung over the edge right here, then you would have a better understanding."

"Too dangerous," Elladan put in, peering downward. "The other side would be safer."

"Safer!" Lana echoed indignantly. "You two are horrid! Let go of me!"

Elrohir smiled. "I think not." Using his superior strength, he propelled her to the other side of the flet. "As my brother said, this is a safer place for our little experiment."

And before she could even open her mouth, he had her dangling over the edge, his body braced so there was no possibility that he would lose her. She had dropped a bit, her thighs pressed against the flet's outer edge, but he held her firmly by the upper arms, her face level with his waist.

"Beasts!" she shrieked, her hands clinging to him. "Wicked, wicked beasts!"

"You should not struggle," he told her kindly. "It makes it more likely I will drop you before my brother has time to reach the flet below. Someone must be there to catch you when you fall."

"What?" she gasped in outrage. "You must be joking!"

"Perhaps I am," he teased. "Or perhaps not. It's only three levels down."

"Three levels!" she squealed. "You would not!"

"Of course I would. I trust my brother."

A moment later he heard Elladan's signal. "Ah, he is below now. Are you ready, fair one?"

"Why are you doing this?" she wailed. "Why do you hate me?"

Elrohir gazed deeply into Lana's frightened blue eyes. "I do not hate you, darling. I want to teach you something. It may not be what you wish to learn, but it is what you ought to learn. Compassion, sensitivity, family loyalty—these are things I understand, so they are things I can teach."

"I hate you!" She had stopped struggling, but her eyes were flashing. "Galadriel will banish you from Lórien! You will suffer for this!"

"I do not think my grandmother will banish me," he said quietly, "but I cannot say the same for you if you do not learn your lessons."

She glared at him, looking as though she would like to spit in his face.

"Ready?" he called down to Elladan, and received an affirmative.

"You will not drop me," she moaned. "What if he does not catch me?"

"He will catch you, lovely one. It is not that far." And with these words he let go . . . and with an easy grin, leaped over the edge after her.

He landed on the flet directly below, which was only one level down, contrary to what he had told Lana. Lana lay in Elladan's arms, her face white and shocked.

A moment later she started to thrash and punch. "Put me down! You are beasts, both of you! Monsters! Snakes! Orcs!"

"Oh, come now," Elladan protested, setting her on her feet. "I caught you, did I not?"

Lana shot him a venomous look and then slapped him across the face.

Elladan laughed.

Lana spun toward Elrohir, her hand raised.

"I am not as generous as my brother," he warned. "Strike me and I will not laugh."

She slapped him anyway. "I am not trying to make you laugh, Elrohir!"

Elrohir watched her as she whirled and ran away, leaving the two of them alone. "Well," he remarked, "I am not so sure she learned anything."

"Ah well," Elladan drawled, "we could but try."

xxx

Lana ran, half sobbing, as fast as she could away from them. She could hardly believe those dreadful twins had treated her so heartlessly! Then again, she ought to have expected it, for they had been nothing short of callous of her comfort during that horrendous journey to Lórien. She hated traveling! She had hated the journey from Imladris to Mirkwood, and she'd hated the journey from Mirkwood to Lothlórien. Part of her only wanted to go home, back to their little cottage in Imladris, but the thought of another journey so soon was unendurable. So for now she was trapped here, trapped in this vile land where everyone thought Elanor was some kind of hero!

Always it had been this way. Elanor always did everything better than she did, no matter what it was. Elanor was perfect in every way, beloved by all, preferred by her parents and friends. She'd even managed to attract Haldir, though how she had done so, Lana could not conceive. Elanor, Elanor, Elanor!

Lana ran blindly, not looking where she was going, down and up steps, across little bridges, past startled elves who watched her but said nothing and did nothing to stop her or help her. Everyone was against her! They all hated her!

This was her last thought before she fell, twisting her ankle as she tumbled down a short flight of steps. She lay, sobbing quietly, feeling sorry for herself and hoping the twins did not follow and find her. If they did, they would probably just laugh and toss her over the side again.

The experience they had just put her through had been horrifying. She had not wanted to believe in Elanor's fall, and it had been so easy to imagine it was nothing more than an exaggeration invented to gain sympathy or escape. But all that had changed. Now she had no recourse but to imagine it, over and over; not only that, she was now forced to realize that she had truly almost lost her sister. She sobbed harder and wished she were dead.

"What is wrong, young elleth?" inquired a concerned male voice. "Why do you weep?"

Lana looked up to see a kindly face, the first she had seen in quite a while. "I f-fell," she stammered. She sat up quickly, wondering if her face was blotched and dirty. Was her hair in disarray?

The fair-haired elf wore long silver robes and a somber expression, yet he seemed concerned about her, unlike anyone else in Caras Galadhon. "You are injured?" He bent to examine her.

"I twisted my ankle," she murmured, gazing up at him through her lashes. He was rather nice looking, but his manner told her that he was an older elf, probably very experienced. Normally she would have flirted with him, but just now she was in no mood for it.

"Will you allow me to examine you? I am Hírion, premier healer of Lórien, second only to Lord Celeborn himself. I gather you are Elanor's sister."

Lana was impressed, although why this was so, she could not say. "Yes, I am Lanaewen of Imladris. Can you heal my ankle?" she added in a small voice.

Hírion's fingers probed her injury. "'Tis but a slight sprain," he pronounced. "Were you trained as a healer, you could heal this yourself easily enough." He sounded reproachful, and once again she felt judged and inadequate.

"I am trained in nothing," she said sullenly. "I do nothing useful at all."

He frowned. "Why is that?"

"Because I am merely an ornament. Look at me," she added, still feeling sorry for herself. "I am fit for nothing."

"Nonsense," he scoffed, much to her surprise.

"Why is it nonsense?" She meant to sound testy, but somehow her curiosity came through.

"Watch and learn," he instructed, with slight pomposity.

He laid his palms against her ankle, one on either side, and at once she felt heat and tingling. "How do you do that?" she asked in wonderment. Had she ever been treated by a healer before? She could not remember it. Had she ever been injured? Not since she was an elfling, and that was long ago.

"It takes training but it can be learned," he said gruffly. "Some learn it more easily than others. Some have the gift." A period of time passed before he spoke again. "How do you feel now?"

Lana rotated her foot, and found to her surprise that all the pain had gone away. "I am healed!" she exclaimed. "Thank you!"

He held out a hand to help her to her feet, and she took it, wondering what she would do now. "Will you show me the way to my talan? I fear I have gotten lost."

"Yes, I will do that," he said. "And then I must hasten away, for I have herbs to gather and potions to mix. Mind your steps now, young elleth. And no more falling."

xxx

In the first days of her family's visit, Elanor balanced her time between them and Haldir, making sure to create opportunities for them to meet and come to know each other. She did not know how long her parents would linger in Lórien, but she sensed that they were not altogether at ease in this place where she now felt so at home. They did seem to like and accept Haldir, and he was cordial enough toward them, so all in all, things were going far better than expected.

In truth it was wonderful to be with her family again, under circumstances where she felt more independent than she had ever felt back in Imladris. And even though she was Galadriel's ward, the Lady seemed disinclined to require additional duties of her beyond the tending of her garden. Galadriel did send for her more often, granting her more of her time, but their conversations were apt to be pleasant and brief inquiries into the state of Elanor's well-being rather than instructional dialogues, although she did occasionally offer a word of advice.

As for Lana, at first she had continued to behave as she always had, wanting Elanor to mend her skirt or spend time with her unless one of the Lórien ellon happened by. At such times Lana was very much her usual self, simpering and flirting and trying to attract their notice, which she usually achieved. And then she would be off with her new 'conquest' as she called them.

Yet between Elanor and Lana there was a new tension, one that Elanor did not fully understand.

One conversation in particular stood out in Elanor's mind. It had taken place during the earlier part of the week. Their parents had gone for an evening stroll, but Lana had stayed with Elanor, sitting on the terrace of the guest talan while the dusk gradually gathered.

"Elanor," Lana had said, "I understand now what happened to you. I do not mean I fully understand why you fell, but I now understand how frightening it was."

Elanor had looked up from some mending she was doing, not for Lana, but for Haldir. "What makes you say that?"

Lana had gone on to confide what Elrohir and Elladan had done to her. "They are hateful and horrid, and I loathe them," she ended vehemently.

Elanor shook her head helplessly. "I do not know what to say, Lana. It was very wrong of them and they should not have done it."

Lana nodded. "Indeed it was. Will you say something to Lady Galadriel about it? I dare not, but they should pay for what they did to me."

Elanor considered this for a long moment. "Lana, I really do not think I should. Have you spoken of this to Ada or Naneth?"

"I started to tell Ada, but we were interrupted. Two handsome ellyn came along and wished to escort me for a walk in the gardens." Lana looked triumphant. "Already I am as popular here as I was in Mirkwood!"

"Then do you wish me to speak to Ada about it?" Elanor inquired with sinking spirits. The last thing she wanted to do was start a new scandal here in her adopted land.

"I want you to talk to Galadriel!" Lana snapped. "She is _your_ guardian, is she not? I am sure she should be interested in the doings of her own odious grandsons! You must know that Ada will do nothing. They teased me mercilessly on the journey and he never said a word to them!"

"Perhaps you should simply let this go," Elanor replied. "You came to no harm, after all."

Lana's jaw thrust out. "Are you saying you will not do as I ask?" she said dangerously.

"I am saying that I do not feel it is appropriate for me to go to Galadriel with your complaint. You ought to speak to Ada about it and discover his thoughts on the matter. Perhaps he will speak to the Lady himself."

Lana leaped to her feet, her face flushed with fury. "I see how this is! You have your place here and you do not want me to share it! Never mind the fact that I have no home at the moment, and no ellon who loves me! You want it all for yourself, just as you always have!"

Appalled, Elanor also rose. "That is untrue and unjust," she replied, calmly and steadily.

Lana's pretty lips sneered. "You may deny it all you like, but it is clear to me now. You are tired of me and wish to be rid of me. You love all these Lórien elves more than you do your own family! I am only an inconvenience!"

And with that unfair statement, she left in an angry whirl of skirts.

They had scarcely spoken since. Lana had kept her distance and Elanor had heeded Haldir's advice, which was to wait until her sister got over her tantrum before she tried to talk to her again. Since then, Haldir had returned to the Fences, albeit with reluctance to leave her side.

Elanor sighed and prayed once more for his continued safety. At least she could feel him through the indwaedh and knew he was alive and well.

xxx

Healea sat on the narrow stone bench, enjoying the warm beams of sunlight slanting downward through the leaves while she observed the couple who walked across the bridge not so far above her. She could hear their voices quite clearly from here, though she could not understand what these two could have in common. It was the oddest pairing she would ever have imagined.

"Do you not find the heights disturbing?" she heard Elanor's sister ask with an air of unease. Healea shifted curiously, angling her head to study the young Imladris elleth. They had not yet been introduced, but Healea and her friends had been observing her since her arrival and were not at all impressed.

Hírion guided her gently away from the edge. "Why would we find it disconcerting, little one?" The touch of amusement in his voice surprised Healea. "We are Silvan elves. The trees are our home."

The healer, usually quite dour and humorless, appeared to be enjoying his stroll with Lana. Healea narrowed her eyes. She found little to admire about the elleth from Imladris; rather, she wondered how Elanor endured have such a twit for a sister. From what she had heard, this Lanaewen seemed to enjoy complaining more than anything else. Well, almost. Healea's lip curled with disdain as she considered the reputation Lana was slowly building. The little sister was proving to be the bold and foolish hussy she'd expected Elanor to be!

Had Lanaewen chosen Hírion as her companion, or had the stern healer been coerced into escorting the wayward female? Healea could hardly believe he would volunteer.

"In view of my sister's fall," she heard Lana reply, "I would think it quite obvious. I think it quite unsafe, myself. Many of these stairways have no railings."

Hírion offered her his arm to steady her, drawing her closer as they began to descend the staircase that wrapped around the large mallorn. "The paths in these forests are like the ones in our lives." He glanced down at her with a gentle smile. "Whether they are high in the trees or on the ground, there are many ways each of us can falter and fall, but also many ways each of us can walk them safely and with joy. The choice is ours."

Healea rose as they disappeared behind the far side of the massive trunk, shaking her head at Hírion's reply. That elf was always trying to teach, even when the subject was unrelated to healing. Then again, she supposed it was another form of healing, though she doubted foolish Lana saw any wisdom in his answer.

The pair rounded the bend, emerging into sight just as Healea was about to walk away. However, she changed her mind when she saw the way Lana tightened her grip on Hírion's arm and stared down at her. "Who is _that_?" she asked in an undertone that carried farther than she probably realized.

For a moment Healea was startled by her hostile tone, and then the reason for it occurred to her. The little fool saw her as a rival. No one could deny Lanaewen's exceptional beauty, but it appeared that she was insecure. Healea had never been insecure. She had once been rather vain, but that was a flaw she had corrected in herself a long time ago, with Cothion's help.

Seeing Healea, Hírion gave her an amiable nod. "Good day, Healea. Have you met Elanor's sister yet? Lanaewen, this is Healea. She was once a student of mine, and is now a talented healer among many other things."

"I am Lanaewen of Imladris," Lana added coolly, looking down her nose at Healea.

Healea gazed back haughtily, much as she had once done with Elanor. "I know who you are," she drawled, her tone not making it a compliment.

Lana's brows drew together, but Healea did not give her any time to respond, but instead turned to Hírion. "I have a message for you from Lady Galadriel, Master Hírion. She wishes you to attend to her on a matter of some importance." She hoped Galadriel would forgive her for this small lie.

Hírion sighed and looked at Lanaewen. "Then I must go at once, but I would enjoy showing you my herb garden later, if you would like. I have some particularly fine elderberry bushes, and of course my comfrey is used in all Lórien healing poultices." He paused for a moment, and then seemed unable to resist adding, "Comfrey and fennel are both important ingredients in that mixture, as well as lady's mantle. And I feel sure you will wish to see my vervain."

Healea hid her surprise. Hírion, a confirmed bachelor, rarely showed this much interest in any elleth who was not his student! It was unheard of. And yet she sensed the interest was not romantic even if it appeared so to Lana. Hírion was always on the lookout for a new student.

Lana smiled meekly at the healer and fluttered her lashes. "How very kind you are, sir. I would enjoy that."

Hírion looked pleased, and then with a quick nod at Healea, he hurried away up the staircase he had just descended.

Lana smoothed her skirts with a practiced motion and sent Healea a superior smile. "You wished to speak to me?"

"Not at all," Healea said languidly. "Why would I?"

Lana moved over to the bench Healea had vacated and sat down, placing her feet together neatly. "Well, what am I to do now that you have disposed of my escort? I do not know my way around this place."

"Perhaps I would tell you if you asked politely."

"I will find another ellon," Lana said peevishly, "although it should be Elanor attending me. I do not know why she ignores me so. It was never this way before she came _here_." She sighed as though she suffered terribly and all of Arda conspired against her.

Healea studied her, wondering how she and Elanor could possibly be sisters. "Elanor is likely occupied at the moment. She does have responsibilities here, though her strength has not yet returned in full. It remains important that she does not overexert herself."

Lana uttered a sharp laugh. "Elanor, overexert herself? How would she do that? She does nothing but garden and sew." Her voice trailed off as Healea's gaze sliced into her.

"It might interest you to know that Elanor is highly respected here," Healea informed her coldly. "In fact, she tends Lady Galadriel's garden, and that is a very high honor."

"Pushing dirt around is a high honor?" Lana retorted.

Healea unsheathed her claws. "Indeed it is. You know, Lanaewen, I have heard a great deal about you since your arrival, and none of it is good. The lack of respect you show your sister does you no credit."

"How dare you!" Lana gasped.

"I wonder if you have ever taken the trouble to know Elanor," Healea commented. "Somehow I doubt it. You appear to be only concerned with yourself." She moved to stand directly in front of Lana, taking on a warrior's stance. "Your sister has found her true self here in Lórien. She has bloomed like her namesake, unfurling her petals so that she can be who she was born to be. Elanor happens to be my friend, and I stand by my friends. I will not have your ruining Elanor's life here. You do not have that right."

"I . . . I will speak to Galadriel! You cannot say such things to me! I am a guest here!"

"Then behave as a guest rather than an impertinent and spoilt child who brings nothing but disgrace on her name and that of her land and family." Lana shrank back as Healea moved even closer, her face near the younger elleth's. "I will not harm you, Lana, but I may make sure that others see you as I do. Think about that, before you make any more attempts to disparage her. Oh, yes, I have heard tales of your comments, sprinkled here and there like poison among my people. It ends now, do you hear? Think long and hard, my fine lady, and remember this: I do not threaten. I promise."

"You are worse than the twins! I do not know what I did to deserve such wicked treatment! I was told that I would find goodness and beauty here--"

"You can see beauty and goodness if you yourself have it in your heart," Healea informed her in a hard voice. "Yet I wonder if you have a heart."

Lana stared at her, her eyes wide and her face pale. "I was not treated this way in Mirkwood."

"Then perhaps you should return there," Healea replied tersely.

Lana's lower lip trembled. "I have done nothing to deserve this treatment."

Healea gave her an unpleasant smile. "You should pause and think before you insult Lórien and its people. Word travels quickly, my dear. We knew what you were before you even arrived in Caras Galadhon."

xxx

Iriel and Eluon stood on the highest observation flet in the city, holding hands and gazing upward at the stars. They glistened like teardrops, reminding Iriel of all the times that she had failed as a mother.

"Why has it assailed us in this way?" she asked in a near whisper. "Others do not feel it as we do."

"Some do," Eluon reminded her. "Some left long ago."

"My sister in Mirkwood does not feel it. She begs me to stay."

"I know," he said quietly.

"I cannot focus on anything else for very long. Not even our daughters." A guilty tear trickled down Iriel's cheek. "I wish it was not like this. I do not want to leave them behind and yet I must."

"Not yet," Eluon said firmly. "Not until they have both chosen their path."

"Lana is so young. Why does she not grow up? I thought she would if we left her with Elanor."

"A miscalculation on our parts," Eluon said dryly. "Yet Elanor's path seems clear. She will marry the warden."

"So I hope. He seems like a fine ellon, strong and able and caring. A pity he must put his life so much at risk."

"He is strong, he will survive. Eventually he will bring Elanor to the Undying Lands. We will see them both again. With luck they will give us grandchildren."

"But what of Lanaewen?" Iriel said sorrowfully. "What would become of her if we left now? We cannot leave her as she is, and I cannot take her back to my sister. They detested each other. And I do not think that young Gelion was at all right for her. All he did was feed her vanity."

Eluon sighed and agreed.

Silently, they watched the stars.

After a while Iriel spoke again. "We must be strong, my love. We cannot allow ourselves to fade. I want a future with you, in the West where we belong."

"We will not fade," Eluon said. "A solution will present itself. We will find a way to sail, I promise." He lifted Iriel's hand to his lips and kissed it.

Reassured, Iriel smiled. Her husband always kept his promises.

tbc

A/N: Feedback very much appreciated. We are inching toward the finish line on this story and need encouragement!


	36. Chapter ThirtySix

Thank you very much to all our readers and reviewers! This will be the last chapter, but an epilogue will follow, hopefully to be written within a couple weeks.  
All our best to you, Julie & Fianna

xxx

**Chapter Thirty-Six**

Iriel strolled beside Elanor through the pathways of the garden where her daughter spent so much of her time, taking it in while Elanor pointed out some of its finest features. She watched Elanor's face as she spoke, enjoying the tiny fluctuations that said she was indeed happy here. Never would Iriel have anticipated the developments that had occurred in Elanor's life since she had left Imladris for Mirkwood. Iriel had expected Elanor eventually to find a mate within Imladris, the home of her father's people where she was raised.

"And those are the steps leading to the glade where Galadriel keeps her mirror," Elanor pointed out. "I rarely go down there."

"Have you seen her mirror?" Iriel inquired curiously.

"Yes, I have seen it. But no one other than Galadriel gazes into its waters unless so bidden."

Iriel smiled at Elanor. "I need not look into its waters to see your future, my daughter. It seems that you have found the one you will take as your life-mate."

Elanor returned her smile. "I have, Naneth. We have not spoken yet of marriage, but he has said enough to tell me he thinks of it. When he does, I will be ready. My heart knows he is the one."

"I am glad," Iriel said simply. "I admit he has an appealing air about him, although I did not think so when first we met. A bit aloof, I thought him. Haughty, even." She glanced apologetically at her daughter, and was surprised to see that Elanor's eyes were twinkling.

"Oh, he can be terribly haughty at times," she agreed. "He can be arrogant, aloof and quite annoying. But I love him deeply and I know he loves me also. And his good traits, Nana . . . they are without count, I promise you."

Iriel could hear the love and pride in her voice. "That is well, then," she said, and could not conceal a sigh. "If only your sister would find her life-mate, then I could . . . " She broke off, realizing this was not the best way to approach the subject.

Elanor halted. "Could what, Nana?"

Iriel pressed her lips together, trying to think of a way to explain. "There is no easy way to say this, but there is something you should know."

"What is it?" Elanor faced her, her blue eyes wide and a little worried.

"Your father and I . . . Elanor, we both hear the call of the sea."

"The sea!" Elanor's face went pale. "Nana . . . "

"It haunts me. I feel it in my blood, I hear it in my head, I smell it in my dreams. It is an ache from which I can find no ease. It hurts me here." Her fingers touched her heart. "Your father suffers too."

"How long have you felt it?" Elanor's voice was a whisper.

"It began long ago, when your sister was a child. At first it was so soft and gentle, and came to me only now and then. But it has grown, and it is not gentle. I think I feel it more than your father, but he feels it too." She reached out and took her daughter's hand, holding them tightly. "My darling, we want to leave. We need to sail soon or else . . . "

"Or else you will fade," Elanor finished, her eyes moist with tears. "Nana . . . I cannot go with you. I wish I could, but—"

"Of course you cannot. Your life is here and so is Lana's. Believe me when I say that I would not leave you if there was any other way. But I do not know what to do with your sister. She seems miserable here. I know not what to do. Have you any advice?"

A long moment passed before Elanor replied. "I know nothing of what you are feeling, Naneth, but it is clear to me that you and Ada must go. As for Lana, I suppose you could leave her here, in Lórien."

Iriel heard the resignation in her voice. "You do not like the idea," she prodded.

Elanor bowed her head. "No, I do not, but not because I do not love her." Her voice was low and just a little flat. "Forgive me, Nana. I will set aside my wants for you and Ada, of course. Lana can stay here with me."

Iriel put an arm around her and hugged her. "She can be difficult, I know that. But she is bound to grow up someday." These last words were spoken mostly to herself. "Your father and I plan to speak to the Lady Galadriel. Perhaps a solution can be found that is to your liking, my dear."

Each lost in her own thoughts, they turned and walked back the way they had come.

xxx

"Healea," Galadriel said pleasantly, "did you send Hírion to see me the other day?"

Healea looked up from the manuscript that she had been laboring on for much of the morning. "Yes, my lady. I wished to be rid of him."

"Oh?" Galadriel's brows rose.

Healea set down her quill. "My lady, we have a problem and her name is Lanaewen."

Galadriel came further into the room where Healea was working and stood next to her desk. "I am aware of it. What has this to do with Hírion?"

Healea explained, making sure to apologize for the lie she had told to Hírion. "This elleth does not belong in Lórien, my lady," she finished baldly. "We need to make her leave."

Galadriel regarded her blandly. "It is not that simple, my friend. Let me explain."

Healea listened, but she did not like what it was she heard.

xxx

Lurien paced back and forth, trying to conceal his impatience but without much success. Where was she? She had agreed to meet him here in the relative privacy of this small garden, but she was late.

At long last a soft footfall warned of her arrival, and he swung around, attempting to look cool and collected. "Tarwë," he said quietly. "I am glad you came."

"What do you want, Lurien?" she asked, just as quietly. It was not a promising start.

"I want to talk to you. Come, will you sit with me?" He gestured to a bench tucked away inside a charming little arbor with a view of the flowers and tiny pond covered with lily pads,

After a moment's hesitation, she nodded and moved toward it without giving him a second glance. When they were seated, he reached for her hand, and though she allowed him to hold it, it seemed limp and lifeless.

He frowned. "I have missed you of late."

"Have you?" She sounded indifferent. "You have been much occupied."

He tried to decide if her coldness came from feeling neglected. "I thought of you often while I was gone," he remarked. "I hoped you thought of me also."

She gazed down at their linked hands. "I did, yes. From time to time."

"What were your thoughts?"

She fell silent, as though attempting to recall something complicated. "I hoped you would stay safe," she finally said. She seemed on the brink of adding something else, but then did not.

"But you have avoided me ever since my return from the Fences. I wish to know the reason why."

At last she turned her head and looked him full in the face, but her blue eyes told him nothing. "I have decided it is better for me if our paths do not cross more often than necessary."

Something strong and cruel compressed Lurien's chest. "You do not mean this," he protested. "You love me. You have always said so."

He heard her take a deep breath. "I do love you, Lurien. And all the while you were gone, I thought of you. The night you came back, I thought of you. Each day since then I have thought of you. But where does it lead?"

Confused, he scanned her face. "It means we belong together, that is obvious. I love you too. Why should our paths not cross?"

She only gazed at him as though he were slightly stupid.

"Tarwë," he went on, "I do not understand." Just admitting that aloud made him feel weak, and he did not like it. He could feel his insides braced, as though from some interior shield that would guard him against an unthinkable hurt.

"What do you want of me?" she asked in a near whisper.

His heart beat faster, thumping hard in his chest. There had once been a time when he thought he understood her, but that time was past. Others were giving her advice, and she was hardening her heart against him. What was happening?

"I want to love you," he said tersely. "I want you to be . . . " A horrible feeling enclosed him, as though all the air had been squeezed from his lungs. What if? He could not say it, nor ask it. He knew it was weak but he could not continue, could not risk it, could not . . . his mind clamped shut on the thought.

"Be what?" she prodded, her gaze steady.

Lurien swallowed and tried again. "We had an understanding, you and I. We belong together."

She smiled sadly. "Perhaps we were wrong. Perhaps I was wrong."

"Why are you saying this?" He could hear the emotion in his voice, but at this point he did not care.

She rose to her feet and gazed down at him. "Because one of us needs to say it. You seem to think that you can build a bridge and make everything better, but things change, Lurien. Recollect that you risked everything to enact your revenge. What, now, are you willing to risk . . . for me?"

He, too, rose to his feet, and reached for her hands. "Give me another chance, Tarwë. I love you and only you. Let me show you how much."

She shook her head. "No, Lurien. I do not think you have changed as much as you think." She sounded desolate. "Once again, you expect me to be the one to yield."

"I do not understand," he said again, feeling irritable and desperate. "In what way do I not yield? I have taken no other to my bed. I have admitted we belong together and that I love only you. What more do you want from me?"

She lifted her eyes to meet his. "Strength. I want strength from you."

If she had slapped him, it would have shocked him far less.

"I see." He released her hands and clenched his fingers into his palms. His worst fears had come true; she saw him as weak and no longer wanted him. His lack of place and position, his descent into darkness, had forever marked him in her eyes.

"No, Lurien, I do not think you do," she said softly, her voice full of pity and regret.

And with those words, she left him.

xxx

Lana was growing more and more unhappy with each day that passed. She was lonely and miserable, and the only person in the whole city who seemed to really like her at all was old Hírion. None of the ellith liked her, although a number of them had exchanged pleasantries with her, polite nothings that meant nothing and did not ease the loneliness inside her. As for the ellyn, she had her admirers. Plenty of them looked at her, many smiled at her, some flirted with her . . . but none of this satisfied Lana. She felt unloved, unworthy, and worthless in ways that went very deep into her essential core. Only Hírion seemed to want to talk to her, though he only spoke of herbs and poultices. He seemed to expect her to take an interest in such things as though she were one of his students, and so she did so half-heartedly, curiously flattered that he seemed to think her worthy of his time.

Still, she brooded. That Healea person had been dreadful, the twins were thoroughly hateful, Elanor thought only of herself and that conceited Haldir, and as for her parents . . . Lana shuddered. They understood nothing and never had. Well, perhaps long ago they had, before . . . she cut off the thought, as she always did. Even so, hysteria threatened to well up inside her, and in a fit of temper, she kicked at a plant beside the path along which she had been strolling.

"Another tantrum?" remarked a sardonic voice that was all too familiar.

Lana ignored him and kept walking, but Elrohir fell into step beside her, evidently determined to tease her without mercy as usual. She knew it was Elrohir because she had learned to distinguish between the twins, and of the two of them, she disliked him the most. Never again would she trust him for a moment, or his vile brother either!

"So, my dear, what has you in a temper today? A strand of hair refusing to stay in place? A wrinkle in your pretty gown?"

"Go away," she said with a snap. "I do not wish to speak to you."

"Nor do I wish to speak to you, but your father asked me to find you, and I said I would. I agreed to be your escort." His lips quirked faintly, just enough for her to notice and take offense.

"I do not wish for your escort! You are reprehensible in my eyes."

Elrohir sighed. "Perhaps so, but for the moment let us call a truce. I am fond of your father and would do this small service for him."

Lana was not appeased. "Tell me where he is, and I will go alone. I do not need you to show me anything!"

Elrohir reached for her elbow. "He is in my grandmother's garden, and-- "

"That is all I need to know," she shot back. She jerked away from his hand and ran off.

Exasperated, Elrohir followed swiftly after her. Normally he would have let her go, but Eluon was distraught over some personal matter, and had specifically asked him to perform this service. It appeared that Eluon had spent time with Galadriel, but discussing what, Elrohir knew not. Whatever the outcome of their talk, Eluon's manner was preoccupied and somber, and while Elrohir had a dim view of Eluon's handling of his youngest daughter, he genuinely wished to assist an ellon he considered a friend.

Elrohir allowed Lana to maintain a short distance ahead of him, but as she neared Galadriel's garden, he increased his pace and caught up with her. "Stop," he insisted, his hand once again on her arm. "Listen to me, Lana--"

"Let go of me, Elrohir! Go away!"

"Be reasonable," he objected, restraining her. "Wait!"

Her arm swung toward him, and her hand cracked against his cheek. "Orc!" She flung the word at him like a weapon, one she had no idea how to wield.

"You little she-Orc," he growled. Without a second thought he flipped her over his shoulder and, ignoring her pummeling fists and squawking protests, stalked through the arbor into the garden where her father waited near a bed of white roses.

"Lanaewan, what is this? Elrohir, what transpires here?" Looking appalled, Eluon rose quickly from the bench he had been sitting on, glancing back and forth between them.

"Ada, he is a beast!" Lana screeched, as Elrohir set her on her feet. "You must punish him!" She burst into tears, much to Elrohir's disgust.

"Sir," he said with a bow, "your daughter did not wish for my escort. However, having agreed to fetch her to you, I felt duty bound to provide it." He knew this did not exactly justify his method of transportation, but decided not to apologize. He was far too irritated with her, and with himself for getting involved in this situation at all.

Eluon was looking sternly from Elrohir to Lana, but forbore to comment on her manner of arrival. "Exactly what is your objection to Elrohir's escort, daughter?"

"He is a brute," she sobbed. "I abhor him! He is a cruel, horrid, despicable Orc—"

Elrohir's temper snapped. "You know naught of what you speak. If you had ever seen an Orc, you would not toss that word around so lightly. If you had ever known true suffering . . . " He rounded on Eluon, saying tightly, "Forgive me, my friend, but your daughter's conduct leaves much to be desired. What she wants is discipline!"

Eluon's face was stricken. "Nay, forgive my daughter, I beg you. She does not understand what she is saying."

"You do not know what he has done!" she flashed. "He and his horrible twin dangled me over the edge of the flet where Elanor fell—"

"To teach you a lesson which you unfortunately failed to learn," Elrohir pointed out evenly. "And where I held you was not where she fell. You were in no danger, and you fell no greater distance than the height of two elves. Elladan and I were not cruel to you." He considered whether he ought to apologize to Eluon, but had no chance to do so, for Lana was becoming more hysterical.

"Ada, you must do something!" She clutched frantically at her father's tunic. "You must tell Galadriel what they did to me! They must suffer for it! This is not right!"

"I have already told you," Eluon said tersely, "that I will do nothing of the sort. Calm yourself, please. The Lady of the Wood is not interested in our doings."

"But we are guests here," she insisted, "and I do not think she would wish me to be so treated! I have been threatened and tormented, not only by her vile grandsons, but by the elleth Healea. I have done nothing to deserve such treatment!"

Lana's voice rose shrilly as she hurled her various grievances like tiny stinging arrows upon her father and Elrohir. Elrohir was rather shocked by the depth and force of her anger, as well as her readiness to reveal it to her father; Eluon seemed equally stunned and at a loss on what to say.

"Master Eluon," Elrohir said, when Lana paused for breath, "your daughter is spoiled."

"Oh, am I?" she fired back, her face pink with indignation. "And what of you and your wicked brother? Will Lady Galadriel let you do whatever you wish? Is she so proud that she will allow you to mistreat her guests?"

"And disrespectful," Elrohir added, his voice curt.

"Lana!" Eluon said sharply. "That is enough!"

"I have been treated badly, Ada, and all I want—"

"—is a good spanking," Elrohir cut in, rather grimly, "which I would be more than happy to deliver!"

To his surprise, Eluon nodded resignedly. "You are right, my friend. But I am weak and cannot do it. I give you permission to take her in hand."

Lana gasped. "Ada, you cannot mean it!"

Eluon's mouth flattened. "Indeed I do, daughter. I have not the strength to punish you, but it would do you good. Your tantrums fill me with shame and I can bear them no more. I have enough to sort out without this."

As Lana turned to flee, Elrohir's hand shot out and caught hold of her wrist. "Not so fast, Lanaewen. Your father has tasked me with your discipline and I intend to honor his request."

Lana stared at them, her heart beating fast. She could not believe this was happening! She couldn't seem to get through to her father, nor make him understand the magnitude of her anguish. He didn't seem to care at all that she had been ill-treated; he had closed down again, becoming lost in that strange fog where no one but her mother could follow.

"Let go of me!" She tried to tug away, angered by the gleam in Elrohir's eyes. He was enjoying this! "Ada, please!"

But her father had turned away, his head bowed as if with defeat.

Elrohir dragged her farther into the garden, around the corner of a hedge and past a long bed of dark purple flowers. Lana struggled, trying to kick or bite him, but to no avail. She was beyond words, too horrified and furious even to speak. Within moments she found herself lying facedown across Elrohir's lap. He held her effortlessly, which made her feel even more powerless than she had felt before.

"So, milady," he drawled, "at last you will receive that which you so richly deserve."

"Release me!" she demanded, struggling futilely. "My father is not himself or he would never allow this! He will regret it later, and so will you!"

"He may regret it, but I never will." Elrohir's hand rested lightly on her backside while his other hand pressed down between her shoulder blades. "If you were my daughter, this would have happened long ago."

"If I was your daughter, I would not be in this position!"

"How so?" he asked, sounding interested.

Lana thought of all the differences between the aggressive Elrohir and her quiet and passive father, but in the end she only snapped, "Oh, never mind. Has anyone ever told you that you have bony knees?"

Elrohir laughed. "No one but you, my dear. But enough talk. Let us get on with it." She felt his hand lift and braced herself for what was to come.

"Elrohir!" uttered a stern female voice. The single word held such rich authority that Lana could not doubt its owner's identity. Could her humiliation grow any worse?

"Yes, Grandmother?" Elrohir's voice was respectful, yet full of mischief and bravado.

"Release her at once." The sentence was spoken quietly, yet it carried the weight and power of the ages.

Elrohir assisted Lana to her feet with uncharacteristic gallantry. "I was merely doing Eluon's bidding," he said cheekily.

Knowing her face was bright red, Lana turned to look at the Lady Galadriel, whom until now she had only seen from a distance. To Lana's astonishment, Elanor stood by the Lady's side, her face revealing her distress and shock. Lana briefly considered dissolving into tears and hurling herself into Elanor's arms, but something about Lady Galadriel's demeanor made her hold her ground, her chin lifted high.

"Eluon is too distraught to think clearly." Galadriel's clear gaze lingered on Lana, and she held out her hand. "Come over here, child. Elrohir, you may go. You have teased this young elleth enough."

From the corner of her eye, Lana saw Elrohir touch his hand to his heart. "As you wish." With these words, he left them alone.

Obeying what was clearly a command, Lana walked over to stand before Galadriel, then bowed and touched her hand to her heart, which was again beating fast. Galadriel stood taller than either her or Elanor by a least half a head, and was an impressive figure with her flowing white gown, golden hair and crystal blue eyes. Lana was thoroughly intimidated, yet tried to conceal this out of what little pride she had left.

Galadriel looked her up and down. "It is time we met, Lanaewen of Imladris." She said nothing further, but instead gazed deeply into Lana's eyes for long moments before she sighed. "I see what lies within your heart. Fear of loss has ruled your life, robbing you of joy, creating much misery for you and those around you."

Lana opened her mouth to speak, then thought better of it and remained still, held captive by Galadriel's gaze.

"When we yield to fear, we shut out love and light and hope," Galadriel said. "The walls close in, leaving nothing but despair, wretchedness and an anger that destroys all it touches. You, Lanaewen, have lived like this for most of your life. You have used fear and anger as weapons to punish those who love you or would be close to you."

"Oh, Lana," Elanor murmured sorrowfully. "Why?"

Lana shot her a look of sullen resentment. "Can you really not know? Can you truly be so blind?"

"What do you mean?"

Galadriel glanced briefly at Elanor. "That which you have only just learned, your sister has known for most of her life. Do I not speak truth, Lanaewen?"

Lana hesitated, then nodded. "You do, my lady."

Elanor's face had gone white. "Lana, oh dear Elbereth, you mean that you knew . . .?"

"That Ada and Nana want to sail away and leave us alone?" Lana said harshly. "Yes, I have known for years and years, ever since I was an elfling. I heard them talking about it one day when they thought they were alone."

"Do you know why your father summoned you today?" Galadriel asked in a gentler voice than she had used thus far.

"No," Lana admitted.

Galadriel continued to hold her gaze, and Lana found she could not look away. "Do you know about my mirror? Have you been told what I can see in it?"

"Yes, my lady," Lana whispered, after a moment's pause.

"At your father's behest, I gazed into my mirror with him at my side. We both saw the same scene unfold in its waters. It involved your mother." Galadriel paused. "If she does not sail soon, she will fade."

Tears welled up in Lana's eyes, spilling over and sliding down her cheeks as the reality of the situation finally took root. These tears were real, and they came from the very depths of her soul. A moment later, she felt Elanor's arms go around her, and she leaned against her sister, welcoming her embrace as she struggled to regain her composure.

"Worry torments your father," Galadriel continued. "He worries for you, Lanaewen, as well as for your mother. He is not as weak as you think, but he faces a difficult situation."

"They must sail," Lana sobbed. "I do not want my mother to die."

"Yes, child, they must sail. And so, to that end, I have made Eluon an offer, one he has accepted only because he knows he must. He has no other choice. Are you prepared to hear it?"

Lana lifted her head from Elanor's shoulder. "Please tell me."

Galadriel gestured toward the curved bench which Elrohir had recently vacated. "Let us sit," she said, and when they had done so, she added, calmly, "After he gazed into my mirror, your father made his decision. He and your mother will sail before the year's end. Elanor will remain here in Lórien, of course, and so shall you, Lanaewen. However, Elanor will not be tasked with your care. You will have a guardian, and you will have a teachers. You will make a life for yourself here, and, whether you believe it now or not, you will be happy here."

Lana experienced the strangest feeling of relief, yet could not have explained the reason to anyone. "Who will be my guardian?" she asked numbly.

"I will," said Galadriel calmly. "And Healea has agreed to be one of your teachers. You dislike her now, but you will grow to like her very much in time. Perhaps Hírion will be another teacher, for I see before you a path of healing. That is something you must decide."

"But Healea loathes me," she protested.

Galadriel smiled faintly. "You must earn her respect, but you are capable of that. It will take time. You will have to work hard and change your ways."

Elanor broke her self-imposed silence. "You will come to like Healea. She is good, and fair, and loyal to her friends."

Lana shook her head. "She will never accept me as her friend. No one here in Lórien likes me."

"That too will change," the Lady informed her. "Once you begin to change your attitudes, you will find that everything else shifts. That is the way life is, child. Fill your heart with light, and it will reach into the darkest corners."

Lana gazed down at her fingers, trying to summon the courage to ask the question burning in her mind. "And . . . will I ever marry?" she asked timidly.

This time Galadriel did smile. "Of course you will. But do not ask me to tell you more than that. Much time will pass before you are ready for him, or he for you. You have much growing to do."

Lana sighed dejectedly. "Yes, I suppose I do."

xxx

Haldir traveled quickly back to Caras Galadhon, his eager thoughts already on Elanor. Three weeks had passed since he'd left her to resume his tour of duty at the Fences, and he hoped nothing untoward had taken place while he was absent. With Elanor's parents and sister there, he knew anything might have occurred; they were an odd family, one he did not greatly understand, but they were Elanor's kin and he accepted them. He only hoped he could be with her tonight and not be dragged into any kind of family gathering.

After hours of traveling, he at last reached the city gates and entered the city. As always he looked around with pride at the place that was his home, finding it much more satisfying than other elven realms that he had visited. To live here with Elanor was an even greater gift, one that filled his heart with joy beyond all measure. Despite the evil that threatened Arda, despite the danger they faced, he was as happy and at peace as he could be until he took her with him to Valinor. And that would not be anytime soon.

As it happened, he found her easily enough on the terrace of his own talan. She was tending the plants there, and glanced up when he stepped though the doorway, her expression startled and delighted.

"Haldir!" She leaped to her feet and threw herself into his waiting arms. "You are back!"

Their lips met for a long, sweet kiss, and then he lifted his head and smiled down at her. "Are you glad to see me?"

Her passionate reply pleased him very much, and it was a long while before they spoke any more than whispered endearments and each other's names. When that finally occurred, they were both lying on his bed, entwined in each other's arms, their only covering a smooth white bed sheet made of the finest elvish linen.

He smoothed a loving hand down her soft dark hair. "That was a very nice welcome, Elanor."

She smiled, the tips of her fingers making little circles on his bare chest. "I felt that you were returning soon, but did not know which day. It is difficult to wait, sometimes. I miss you so when you are gone."

"I know. I miss you too." He kissed her brow. "But I am here now. Is all well with you?" When she did not answer at once, he frowned slightly and tilted her chin upward with his hand. Her eyes were suddenly moist with tears. "What is it, love? What is amiss?"

He listened somberly as she related her mother's tale, and then frowned during her recital of the scene with Lana. Privately, he thought it a pity that Galadriel had interrupted Elrohir before he could carry out Eluon's bidding, but he trusted the Lady too much to question her wisdom.

"So your sister will remain here, and your parents will sail. When?"

"Soon, Haldir," Elanor replied, her voice faltering with emotion. "Before Echuir, the time of stirring."

Haldir considered this thoughtfully. "Elanor, my heart, it is time we discussed our future."

"You are not ready." She touched his hair, her eyes gentle. "I do not want you to feel forced into anything."

He raised himself up on one elbow, gazing down at her with love and longing.

"I am more than ready, and I feel forced into nothing. I love you, Elanor. And it is time to ask the question I would not ask before when you were healing. Will you bind with me, my love? Will you be my wife for all time?"

There had been a time when he had wondered if he would ever say such words to anyone, but they were words he had longed to say to Elanor almost since the moment of their first meeting.

Time came to a standstill in that moment before her reply, as though all the years of his life until this moment were as the twilight of the dawn before the sun's rising.

"I will happily be your wife, dear Haldir," she whispered, with moisture in her eyes. "It is my greatest wish. You are my life and my heart, and I would have no other, ever. Surely you know this."

Yes, he had known she would agree, and yet a surge of intense joy roiled through him, catching him off guard with its intensity. The sun had risen, marking the creation of a new life for them both.

He bent and kissed her softly on the lips, tasting her sweetness while drinking in the sight of her. "I have known we would marry from the night I first made you my own," he said huskily, "but hearing you say it fills me with happiness beyond all words."

Smiling, she wrapped her arms around him and kissed him back, lovingly and tenderly. "Do you wish to announce our betrothal at once?"

"Yes, we must tell your parents tomorrow. It will make it easier for them to leave if they see you wed first."

"You mean betrothed, do you not?"

He shook his head. "Do you not think it would be better to contravene convention? Your parents could announce our betrothal in a formal ceremony sometime soon. I know the laws of the Eldar say that a betrothal should stand for at least a year, but there are exceptions. Your parents are leaving, Elanor. Let us give them a gift to take with them. We will marry and have our marriage feast so they can carry that memory with them when they go."

She nodded. "I am most willing, as long as Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn approve. The Lady is still my guardian."

"The year is almost up. A year and a day it was, and by my count, only twenty days remain."

"You have been counting?" The corner of her mouth lifted playfully.

"Indeed," he said with lazy tenderness. "I intended to ask you to be my wife on the first day your service was up. Now, we will wed on that day."

To his surprise, Elanor's face began to quiver, revealing the depth of her emotion. "Oh, H-Haldir!" She buried her face in his shoulder, her arm wrapped tightly around him while her shoulders shook with silent sobs.

He held her for a long time, soothing her with murmured endearments and small kisses on her temple until he knew she was calm. "I do not think this is cause for tears, my love," he softly teased.

She lifted her head, giving him a watery smile. "No, it is just this, as well as my parents sailing. Two events that change my world in the profoundest of ways. One gives me the greatest of all joys while the other leaves a shadow across my heart."

"I know, my love," he whispered, still holding her close. "I know."

xxx

Elanor and Haldir's betrothal ceremony took place a week later in the same small garden where Orophin had had his begetting day celebration. Haldir had had the foresight to have silver rings made some weeks prior, and these were exchanged in the presence of all family members and close friends as well as the ruling couple. Elanor wore a silver gown, her hair elegantly arranged by Nerwen's clever fingers, while Haldir looked composed and magnificent in dark forest green. Elrond beamed his delight, the Lord and Lady were regally pleased, and Rúmil and Orophin both grumbled about being betrothed before Haldir, with lots of teasing going on about Haldir wanting to be first at everything.

But despite their good-natured protests, their elder brother would marry two weeks hence. Even now, gold rings were being forged, rings that would take the place of the silver rings the couple now wore.

Iriel and Eluon were calmly dignified, and expressed their contentment with the path their daughter had chosen. Lana was quiet and less sullen than usual, and seemed lost in a world of her own. As for Lurien, he stood silently apart, his manner subdued and pensive. No one deliberately excluded him from the festivities, but he did not join in, nor did he glance at Tarwë more than two or three times. Tarwë avoided looking at him altogether, and those who noticed sensed tension between them, but they were all too polite to mention it.

After the exchange of rings, Eluon and Iriel's departure was formally announced along with the date of their leave-taking, which would be one week after Elanor's marriage. They would travel to the Grey Havens with Elrond and the rest of the Imladris party, who would continue on to Imladris after the ship sailed.

The guests gathered around a trestle table that had been set up with various foodstuffs and wines, nibbling on various delicacies while chatting about either serious or frivolous matters, depending on the speakers.

Healea watched Túre's face, noting the way Túre turned into the curve of Telrion's arm and gazed adoringly up at him. She still did not like him much, but he clearly loved Túre and was good for her. Moments later, Túre turned to Healea with a guilty look that made Healea wince on the inside.

"I must go away with him," Túre said gently, "now that I have found him at last. You understand this, do you not? I love him."

Pain surged through Healea, pain she was sure must be visible on her face. At least Telrion was polite enough not to gloat, though he did not like her much. After all, he was taking away her closest friend, one she had shielded, guided, cared for and loved since they were children, and it would not be easy to say goodbye.

"Yes, Túre, I understand," she said in a steady voice. "You must follow your heart as we all must do. I understand and accept your decision to leave."

Túre touched her arm, her voice filled with emotion. "I will always love you, Healea. I am sure we will see each other again, though it may not be soon."

"Indeed we shall." Healea fixed her gaze on Telrion, who lifted his chin and stared back. "I will come to Imladris and fetch you back myself if he does not make you happy," she said, loud enough for him to hear.

"I _will_ be happy," Túre assured her. "And you must come and visit when you can."

"I will do that someday," Healea said, enjoying the slight tightening of Telrion's jaw that told her he was gritting his teeth. "I will bring Cothion. He enjoys the library there, as do I."

"Good." Túre embraced her, then drew back and gave her a searching look. "But you are happy for me, truly?"

Healea cradled her closely, as she would a daughter. "I am happy for you truly, my dear friend. Be joyful and do not look back."

"I will be joyful," Túre answered, and went back to her lover.

Healea turned away, and immediately caught her husband's gaze. Come here, it said to her, and she went, crossing the clearing to where he stood chatting with Elrond near a vibrant flowerbed holding blooms that were not flourishing outside of Lórien at this time of year. Cothion slid his arm around her waist, and Elrond, reading the situation correctly, moved discreetly away.

"You are sad, my love," Cothion murmured, his lips near her ear.

Healea nodded, her eyes speaking to him in silent communication.

"Túre follows the path of her heart, Healea. It is what she must do." His face was caring, filled with strength and wisdom.

"I know," she said gruffly.

"I know you know," he said tenderly. "Because you are the wisest of all ellith."

She smiled slightly and shook her head. "That is not true and you know it. But I did choose you," she added, "and that shows I have at the very least some common sense."

"My point exactly." He kissed her brow and whispered in her ear, reminding her of things he had taught her, and things they had learned together, about life and love and the timeless existence of the Elves. Healea listened, letting his quiet words wash over her, soothing away her sorrow and nourishing her in ways that no one else had ever been able to do.

Meanwhile Tarwë had approached Lord Elrond, who had been standing alone, contemplating a cluster of dark red flowers with a thoughtful air. "My lord?" she said, rather shyly. "May I speak with you for a moment?"

Lord Elrond glanced up. "Of course. You are Tarwë, are you not?"

Tarwë nodded and forced a smile. "I am Tarwë, daughter of Tulcë and Tarnon. They sailed West long ago, my lord."

"You must miss them," he said kindly.

"I do, yes." Tarwë drew a breath. "I would like to join them, my lord. I wish to sail on the ship with Elanor's parents."

His gaze grew intent, those wise eyes of his discerning. "You feel the call of the sea?"

Tarwë hesitated. "Not exactly, but there is nothing for me here."

Elrond looked over her shoulder at Lurien, who stood some distance away, looking aloof, alone and lonely. "Are you so certain of that?"

"I am certain," she said steadily.

"Then I shall be glad to provide you with an escort to the Grey Havens. However, I strongly counsel you to consider carefully this decision. There is no coming back once you have left these shores. Those you leave behind are parted from you until they too sail. It could be a very long time." He had kept his voice neutral, but she was aware that he knew more than almost anyone whereof he spoke.

"I understand," Tarwë said in a low voice. This time she could not conceal her wretchedness, and she knew from the expression on Lord Elrond's face that he was aware of the conflict seething inside her. "And I shall consider carefully, my lord. Thank you for your kindness."

She slipped away, weaving her way among the guests in a roundabout path that kept her far from Lurien. Elrond saw him turn to watch her, and felt moved to walk over to him.

"Good evening, Lurien. A fine evening, is it not?"

Lurien looked at him blankly, as though startled to find the lord of Imladris addressing him. "Very, my lord," he agreed, after a moment's hesitation.

Elrond looked him over, assessing the ex-sentinel with a critical eye. "I hear your plans for your bridge have finally been approved."

"Yes." Lurien was frowning. "My lord, if I may ask . . . what did Tarwë say to you just now?"

Elrond regarded him with pity. "She wishes to sail, Lurien. Or so she says. Has she spoken of this to you?"

Lurien's face turned white. "No, she has not," he admitted. He was clearly shocked, and it was taking a great deal for him to remain in control.

"I am sorry, Lurien. Perhaps you should speak to her. It is a great decision to make, one that cannot be altered once undertaken."

Lurien nodded numbly and excused himself.

xxx

Nerwen paced back and forth the length of Tarwë's little terrace, too tense and worried to be able to sit beside her friend while they talked.

"Why will you not see him?" Nerwen asked in confusion. She was more than a little perturbed by her dear friend's decision to sail, and in this situation, she had decided to take Lurien's side. "After all that you have been to each other, do you not think you should talk? I do not understand you!"

Tarwë shook her head. "I will not see him. He weakens me, and if I am going to do this, I need strength."

"If you did not love him, he could not weaken you."

"That is my point, Nerwen."

Nerwen sighed. "He loves you, Tarwë. Can you not see that?"

"He does not love me enough."

"How do you know? He rejected Gwirith, did he not? As for that Lana person, anyone can see she did not interest him. She is a sly little chit with neither sense nor judgment. He looks at no one but you."

Tarwë's blue eyes were haunted. "He thinks he wants only me, and perhaps he does for the present. Perhaps I will be enough for him for years to come. But eventually he will tire of me and turn to another."

Nerwen stopped her pacing and stood directly in front of her friend with her fists on her hips. "Not if you two bonded," she pointed out.

"That must be a shared decision," Tarwë said quietly. "Even if he were to ask me, which he will not, I would refuse. No, Nerwen, I am sorry, but I must leave. I love you and my other friends, but I have borne enough pain. I will sail to the Undying Lands and be reunited with my parents."

Filled with sorrow and frustration, Nerwen shook her head. "Oh, Tarwë," she whispered. "I think you are making a huge mistake."

xxx

Elanor woke early on the day of her wedding, with a smile on her face and memories of sweet and tender dreams dancing in her thoughts. She was thankful that her family could be here to witness and bless her marriage, and her only wish was that Haldir's parents could also have been here. But at least his brothers were here, and that was also a blessing.

A mere year ago, she would never have believed that this would be happening. So much had changed; _she_ had changed and grown in ways she would never have predicted. And even though her parents' departure loomed near, she was determined that this would be the happiest of all days for and for Haldir.

As the hour of the marriage feast grew near, Elanor's mother and sister assisted her with her gown and hair. Elanor's gown was white and gold, a gift from Lady Galadriel that had come as a complete surprise.

"For my ward, with my love and good wishes," the Lady had said with one of her beautiful, warm smiles. "It has been one of my favorite gowns, and from this day forward, it is yours."

So it was that on this of all days, Elanor wore a gown that was unusually fine and richly decorated, with lace and gold thread and gauzy layers that made her feel like the most beautiful elleth alive. Doria had altered the length, since Galadriel was slightly taller than Elanor, and the gown now fit perfectly.

"You look lovely, my darling," Iriel assured her with tears in her eyes.

"Yes, you do, Elanor," Lana agreed. Of late she seemed to have shed some of her bitterness, for which Elanor was profoundly thankful. Instead she seemed quieter and a bit more introspective, although these changes were subtle, and perhaps not noticeable to one who did not know her well.

Lana had gathered some golden elanor blooms, and these she wove into her sister's hair while Iriel sang a soft, sweet song about love that neither of her daughters had heard her sing in a very long time. Peace filled Elanor's heart, and for the first time she felt that she could accept her parents' departure without devastating sorrow and a sense of loss. Time flowed along like an endless river, and eventually they would all be together again.

As was custom, the marriage was to be celebrated with a feast, shared by both families as well as friends, and situated in the largest clearing in Caras Galadhon. As the time neared, Elanor grew nervous, but this emotion faded as soon as she set eyes on Haldir. Dressed in his finest tunic, also of white and gold, his familiar gaze reassured her, reminding her that all was as it should be.

Before the feast, Elanor's mother bestowed upon Haldir a chain of gold that had been in her family for many years, while her father gave to Elanor a jewel of flashing blue set into a slim and delicate necklace. And when the time came, near the end of the feast, for the exchange of rings, Elanor's mother and father came forth and joined Elanor's and Haldir's hands together and gave a formal blessing upon the union in the name of Eru, with Varda and Manwë named witness.

Elanor stood proudly at Haldir's side, knowing they were making the right choice and that all present approved and celebrated along with them. In exchange for the silver betrothal rings, they gave each other slender rings of gold, beautifully wrought by the skillful hands of Thórion, the master smith and close friend to Haldir's family.

Haldir slipped it onto her index finger with a small smile, saying, "For you, _meleth nín_, to wear always and forever. A tribute to my eternal love."

Elanor slid the second ring onto his finger, speaking similar words to him, and then they kissed and it was done. Of course it was only ritual, done for the sake of their families; the real marriage would be achieved later by bodily union accompanied by a joining of the fëa, whereupon the bond would be complete and everlasting.

Lana watched these proceedings with a curiously heavy heart. All week she had been excited about the wedding, which had brought her family much notice and made people friendlier, even to her. As Elanor's sister she had felt important, and with Galadriel's protection, she had felt safer, but now those feelings settled like pebbles in a stream, leaving an emptiness that seemed to grow with every passing minute.

The revelry that commenced at the end of the feast, with its music and dancing, provided her with the opportunity she needed to slip away. Feeling sorry for herself, her newfound feelings of acceptance floundering, she hurried down one path and then another, heading as far away from the merriment as she could get.

Tears flowed down her cheeks, reminding her of that other time she had run away and cried. At least this time the horrible twins were occupied dancing with ellith and would not chase after her to taunt and mock her. Right now she only wanted to be alone for a while, and then she would dry her tears and return, and perhaps even be able to enjoy herself again.

These were her last thoughts before she slammed into a solid rock of a male chest. Strong hands instantly gripped her, preventing her from falling or moving on around him, which she was trying to do. But instead of apologizing, or asking her if she was hurt, or releasing his hold of her, or anything even remotely gallant, he simply stared down at her.

"Let me go!" she said angrily. She tried to jerk away, but he did not allow it. Instead, he held her at arm's length, evaluating her with such arrogance that she longed to slap him.

"Such haste," he remarked, his attitude critical. "And a sharp-edged tongue too. Neither will avail you here in Lórien, youngling. You ought to heed the words of those wiser than you instead of lashing out."

Tall, broad and silver-haired, he was obviously a warden, for he wore the standard attire and warrior braids, and carried one of the great red bows of the Galadhrim. He reminded her of Haldir somehow, with his wide shoulders and muscular physique, as well as the haughty way he was looking down his nose at her. His voice had a low, deep timbre that, again, reminded her of the Marchwarden.

"Oh, really?" She lifted her chin, glaring at him indignantly. "You do not know what you are talking about. You do not even know who I am—"

"I know who you are. You are Elanor's sister. I also know you should be at the wedding feast instead of running off to cry like a child over some imagined slight." His dark blue gaze raked over her, displaying not the slightest hint of male admiration despite that she was wearing her very best gown and had taken particular care with her hair.

"You know nothing of the matter! Let me go!"

He released her with a soft snort. "I know more than you think, Lanaewen of Imladris. But have no fear that I will detain you. I have no interest in ill-mannered children." And without another word, he stepped around her and strode away, his long legs carrying him swiftly toward wherever he was headed.

"Ooh!" Outraged, Lana stared after him, then darted away, putting as much distance between them as fast as she could. Whoever he was, he was the most conceited and disagreeable ellon in all of Lórien!

xxx

Sarnion walked away feeling strangely unsettled and annoyed with the silly young elleth. Why this was so, he did not know, but he had barely rounded the next bend when he came face to face with the Lady of Light, exquisite and lovely in a gown of shimmering blue.

"Sarnion," she said with a sympathetic look. "It is good to see you here at last. You are late. You have missed the exchange of rings."

He bowed his head and touched his heart, surprised to find her so far from the festivities. "A small matter at the Fences delayed me, my lady, but it has been resolved. I go now to change my attire so I can honor my commander on the day of his marriage."

Galadriel smiled slightly and rather oddly. "And I go to offer counsel and comfort to a certain young elleth who needs a great deal of guidance."

Sarnion scowled. "You will need patience to deal with that one, my lady. She has no more sense than an unseasoned babe, and probably much less. I do not envy you your task."

"I am sure you do not. And yet, Sarnion, I sense conflict in you."

He considered this. "Not conflict, my lady, merely . . . disquiet."

"Ah yes, disquiet. I can understand that."

"My lady?" He lifted a brow.

"Sometimes change comes upon us when we least expect it," she said obliquely.

Sarnion concealed his confusion, maintaining an impassive demeanor. "True enough," he said politely, "but I am ever wary."

"Some things are inevitable," she added, with a near twinkle. "One may be wary, but one may not avoid one's destiny, Sarnion."

He remained silent, praying he misunderstood her meaning.

"She will grow wiser, in time," Galadriel said gently. "Many long years will pass before that happens, but it will come to pass. The future holds good things for you, my friend, whether you believe it or no."

Sarnion stared at her, unsure what to say.

"Go now," she advised him in a kind voice, "and celebrate with our Marchwarden. Do not concern yourself with what lies ahead. The future takes care of itself."

Sarnion touched his heart and took his leave. He had much to think about, but now was not the time.

xxx

Later that night, Haldir gazed down at Elanor with a very contented smile, a proud tilt to his chin, his pale skin luminous in the moonlight. They stood facing each other on the terrace of his talan—their talan—excited and breathless with anticipation of their sacred union.

"Well, my love, my Elanor?" he murmured huskily. "What have you to say to me now?"

Her arms slid up to encircle his neck and drew him close. "I love you, I love you, I love you," she whispered. "Sing to me, my darling. Sing to me under the stars, and then I shall melt with you and we shall be as one."

And so he did, choosing a love song of old, his rich voice quiet, wrapping around her like a curtain of dreams, enfolding her in warmth and a love that would last for all time.

Did the song actually end? Elanor was unsure, even when his mouth was on hers, for its tune seemed to linger inside her, mingling with the throb of her heart and her passion for him, its lush and sensual melody spinning on without end. Their bodies moved, first in a slow, deliberate dance to the cadence that hung in the air, then down to the blankets so carefully spread on the flooring. Their bonding would take place here, under the glimmering light of the Seven Stars, with Ithil as their witness.

Eagerness soon overtook them, their kisses more heated, soaring along with the rise of the moon. Her fingers tousled his starlit hair, her own thick tresses an ebony veil against her pale shoulders. With soft sounds of pleasure they courted and loved, their bodies locked in the sweetest and most ancient of dances, a coupling to carry them to the stars and beyond. Fire burned, flaring out in a grand display, while within, in silver stillness, their bonding took place, blending satin with silk to yield a new fabric far more beautiful than either had known before.

Two had been made into one, never to be separated unto the end of the world.

Afterward, they lay unmoving, nearly shattered by the experience, pressed as close together as it was possible for two people to be.

"We do not need the indwaedh any more, Elanor," Haldir said softly. "Our fëar are joined, can you feel it? The bond is as strong, if not stronger, than the jewels we wear."

"I feel you now more than ever," she whispered. "You are in my mind, my heart and my blood."

"Without end, Elanor. We will always be like this. You are my wife now."

She lifted her head from his shoulder and gazed deeply and tenderly into his eyes. "And you are my husband, Haldir of Lórien. I will love you for all time with all of my being."

He smiled and brushed back her hair from her face. "I know, Elanor. I will love you for all time also. You have my vow."

xxx

tbc – a final epilogue will follow this chapter; hopefully within a couple weeks. We hope you enjoy the ending of our story, and thank you for reading.


	37. Epilogue

A/N: Well, folks, it's the end of the road for this story. Many, many thanks to those of you who have followed ER and given us feedback and reviews. It's been a long haul—far longer than either of us ever envisioned. A lot of outside factors have played a part in the length of time it has taken to write this—job related factors, health-related issues, motivational issues, and RL just taking up time. However, it's finally finished. We hope you enjoy the ending. Feedback is always appreciated. –J & F

xxx

**The Epilogue**

The Grey Havens, Haldir thought, was an apt name for the long-standing Elvish port that lay still and shrouded by sound-muffling mist.

He stood at the twilight of dawn upon the cool grey stones of the quay in Mithlond, calmly aware of the intangible call of the sea and the West upon his elven soul. He had been in this place before, though not in many years, and he had almost forgotten its seductive lure. In Lórien he did not feel it, but here in this place, with its soft voice seeping into him, he had a hint of what it must be like for Elanor's parents.

The gulf of Lhûn—the last hurdle before the great expanse of open water—shimmered softly in the early morning light, drawing his curious gaze to the distant and not yet visible meeting of sea and sky. The air was clean and damp, heavy with the smell of salt and kelp, while the soothing rhythm of the outgoing tide lulled his senses into a state of peaceful repose.

He sensed a movement behind him and swung around just as Elanor joined him and caught hold of his outstretched hand. He kissed her lightly, then together they gazed at the sea, each wondering what it would be like to board the ship and sail away, leaving Arda forever.

Today a ship would sail, with Eluon and Iriel on it.

Haldir drew in a deep breath of sea air and squeezed his wife's fingers. "Someday, Elanor, it will be our time to leave, together."

"But not yet," she murmured, sounding content enough to reassure him. Good. He hoped that she would never wish she had sailed with her parents, and would always be glad she had stayed with him.

As the stars faded and the dawn crept up behind them, they watched the sky turn from indigo to plum to pink, slowly pushing back the night. Far out to sea, the faint ringing sound of a tide bell joined the occasional shrill cry of a gull, but for the most part, the pier was eerily silent.

He glanced around to observe the others who had begun to gather in small groups upon the shore. Some he did not know; they had come from other realms to await the sailing of the next ship. Among them stood their own group, divided yet together--except for Lurien, who always seemed apart from everyone no matter where he stood. Elrond and his sons had not yet arrived; they had spent all of yesterday conferring with Círdan, founder and master of Mithlond, the Grey Havens. Iriel and Eluon were there, with what belongings they had brought, with Lana standing near them, looking very pale. The others were nearby— Minden, Telrion and Túre, various other Imladris and Lothlórien escorts . . . and Tarwë, who had yet to speak to Lurien at all.

Haldir's thoughts turned to the journey. In its way it had been difficult, although he considered it rather eventless with regards to danger. Elanor had spent much of the time walking beside her parents, with her sister often trailing behind, lost in whatever thoughts she had, seldom speaking to anyone outside her own family.

Like Lurien and some of the others, Haldir was part of the guard, at hand to ensure the safety of those who traveled. But he had also come along for Elanor, who, like her sister, had chosen to accompany her parents to these shores. During the journey he had often held Elanor's hand, understanding and accepting her long stretches of contemplative silence. He offered what comfort he could while she struggled to come to terms with the knowledge that half her family would soon would be gone, and that it would be a very long time before they were all reunited.

His thoughts were often on other matters. The knowledge that Elanor was truly his still made his heart flutter as though he were once again a youngling in the throes of his first love. It was a wonderful, odd, heady feeling that he reveled in quietly, allowing no one to know the depths of his emotions except Elanor herself. In short, Haldir was happy. He felt like his life was just beginning.

xxx

For Lurien, the entire journey had been torture.

He had had no opportunity to speak to Tarwë. Always there had been people around them, she had made sure of that. He could scarcely even catch her gaze, and every attempt he made to arrange a private moment had been denied. Why?

Why would she not at least speak with him? He did not understand. What had he not done that he should have done? What was he not seeing? Most of all, what had she meant when she said he expected her to be the one to yield? How had he not yielded? And what manner of strength did she demand from him? How could he exhibit strength and yield at the same time? What did she want from him?

He was past anger, past frustration. His plan to use the time spent on the journey to convince her to stay had never been accomplished, for she had completely ignored him. Their arrival in the Grey Havens only heightened the black despair that filled his heart. He felt like his life was at an end.

xxx

Lana stood unmoving on the stone quay, listening to the rhythmic swell of the waves, the long strands of her hair fluttering in the stiff breeze. The early morning light brushed the grey water with a faint pink, and the majority of the sea birds were quiet, sitting half asleep on the ropes mooring the boats to the docks. A grey Elvish vessel waited silently to take her parents away, with only the slurp of the waves to rock it and give it life.

She knew the time grew near when her parents would step onto the ship and leave her forever. Her insides were shaking. Despite her aversion to traveling, she had come along on this journey out of love and as a way of being with them a little longer. Yet now, as she gazed at the ship that would take them away, she felt utterly desolate and wished with all her being that she had not come.

Unlike Elanor, she had no one to comfort her, no one into whose arms she could bury her face, no one whose strong arms would wrap around her and hold her while she cried a thousand tears. Despite Galadriel's assurances, she feared the future. She was alone.

Alone and terribly afraid.

She refused to even look in her parents' direction, for if she did, she knew she would burst into tears. Even so she had to bite her lip to keep it from quivering. Staring out at the water, she thought of her life and her childhood and her own behavior over the years. She had never set out to be selfish or wayward or difficult; she had just wanted to be important in her parent's hearts, more important than Elanor. Now she knew that had been wrong, but the realization had come too late. They would sail away with the memory of how she had been--rather than how she _wished_ she had been--and that was painful.

The quay was no longer as silent as it had been. Voices murmured around her as farewells were exchanged. Many of those who were leaving seemed excited while others looked apprehensive, but she knew without looking that her parents' faces were solemn but calm. They were waiting patiently for her to collect herself, but she knew that the longer she delayed, the longer they would linger here, and so she dallied. Just a few moments more, she told herself silently.

She flinched when a hand touched her shoulder, bringing her back to the scene she was trying not to see. The hand on her shoulder was Haldir's. "Go now," he said softly. "Bid your parents farewell. They are waiting and must board soon."

Feeling numb, Lana nodded and moved slowly, as if in a dream, to stand before Eluon and Iriel, who were regarding her with somber faces.

"My daughter," Eluon said gravely. "Do not grieve for us. Know that your mother and I will travel safely to a place where your mother will be beyond all harm. Someday you will join us there."

"I do not want you to go," Lana whispered, "but I know you must."

Iriel and Eluon took turns embracing her while she struggled not to cry. While Iriel spoke softly with Elanor, Lana gazed up into her father's quiet, noble face. "I will n-never see you again, Ada," she said brokenly. "Let me come with you."

With a small smile, he wiped away her tears with his thumb. "No, my dear, your life is here. You will see me again, my little Lanaewen, and your mother as well. But for now our paths must part. A new way beckons, and I am told it will be most rewarding for you. You must stay."

She tried to swallow the sob that choked her, blinking back the heat of tears. "I am not that strong, Ada, I do not—"

He caught her shoulders, forcing her to gaze into his eyes. In his gaze she read both love and firmness. "You _are_ strong. Your mother is strong, and you are your mother's daughter. Remember, too, that you have Elanor and Haldir to help you. They will not let you falter. Nor will the Lady of Light, your guardian. She tells me she has much faith in you."

Lana released another small sob. "She d-does?" This was hard to believe.

Iriel turned away from Elanor and wrapped an arm around Lana. "She does indeed, my dear child. And so do I. You will grow and you will prosper and be happy here in this land that we have loved so well."

They spoke quietly, and then another arm came around Lana's shoulder. "Nana and Ada must do what they must," she heard Elanor whisper. "You and I will stand together and be stronger for it. No matter what happens, I will stay with you. You are my sister."

Lana gave Elanor a watery smile and sucked in a breath, finally looking at her mother. "I will miss you, Nana. I love you both s-so much."

Iriel smiled gently, wrapping her hands around first Lana's face and then Elanor's. "And I will miss you both. But this is not the end, my dear daughters, but a beginning for us all. I know you will fare well and live good lives. And when you are ready to sail, we will be waiting for you."

Iriel slipped her hand into her husband's, smiled at her children, and then turned to walk across the quay. She hesitated for a moment before stepping onto the plank leading into the ship, but then moved across it without looking back. Eluon followed.

Unable to hold back her emotion, Lana retreated several steps away from Elanor and began to weep. She half expected Elanor to rush over and hold her but this did not happen; instead her sister was being enfolded in Haldir's strong arms. The sharp reminder of how much things had changed only added to Lana's misery.

She was on her own, and she had no one to hold her. She covered her face, her shoulders shaking, and then she felt someone gather her close and stroke her hair. But it was not Elanor . . . .

She stiffened when she realized who held her.

"I know how it feels, little one," Elrohir murmured. "I bid farewell to my own mother here on these shores. Hush," he crooned, as another involuntary sob escaped her. "All is well. Let the tears flow a moment longer, and then lift your head and smile so when they look back, they will carry away that image in their hearts."

Slowly, Lana relaxed as she realized he had not come to mock her. And for some reason her tears did come to a halt, though in the years to come when they spoke of it as the friends they would someday be, she was never to understand why, although Elrohir would have his theories. But now, at this point in time, she did not stop to analyze; she only knew that perhaps she had been wrong and that things were not as bleak as they seemed. Perhaps things really were going to be all right.

She lifted her head and smiled bravely in the direction of the ship.

xxx

Tension and despair clawed at Lurien's insides, shredding any hope he might have cherished that she would turn to him at the last moment. It was Tarwë's time to board. What could he possibly do now to change her mind?

She had refused to look at him as she stood quietly in her grey cloak, waiting her turn, gazing out beyond the ship to the mouth of the bay and the far horizon. The early morning sun lit her silvery hair, glancing off her fingers as she brushed back a long strand from her cheek.

Lurien stood silent and still, his hands clenched so tightly that his fingers were numb. Never had he felt so helpless, so weak, so impotent. He closed his eyes, remembering how wonderful she felt in his arms—her softness, her scent, her smile . . . lost to him forever.

What could he do? _Nothing_, he wanted to shout.

He despised himself for his failure, yet he did not know what to do. It was as though everything he had ever learned about ellith—about Tarwë—was false and he had no experience at all. He was wholly at a loss.

A part of him wanted to stride right over there, seize her and toss her over his shoulder, but instinct told him this would not serve. Too many times had he exerted control, even forced her to his will, and he knew that this was not the solution. He had always loved her, but until these past weeks he had not known just how much and how deeply. How could he have been so blind? How could he have strayed so far from a path that would have been so right? But he could not force her, nor would any of those present allow him to do so.

No, if she stayed, it would have to be of her own free will. But time was running out; there was now no chance for a private moment.

His agony increased as she took a step toward the ship, intent on following Elanor's parents. She still did not look at him. Sweet Eru, she was really going to do it.

_Noooooo,_ he screamed on the inside.

_Strength wears many faces, _whispered a gentle voice in his head.

"Please." His voice was a hoarse whisper, but others must have heard, for a few heads turned in his direction.

But not hers.

An infinity of loneliness stretched out before him.

He had to do something.

Suddenly frantic, he shoved his way madly forward, only dimly aware of Minden and Telrion stepping back to allow him passage. He reached Tarwë's side and caught her hand, but instead of forcing her to turn toward him, he stepped in front of her, his back to the Sea.

"For the love of the Valar, Tarwë, do not do this!" he begged. "Do not leave me!"

He could see that she was trembling, her beautiful blue eyes filled with pain and determination. "Lurien," she said quietly. "Do not do this."

Ignoring the stares of those around them, he fell to his knees in front of her, surrendering the last of his pride. "I love you," he said raggedly.

"I have heard those words before," she reminded him. Yet her voice held a strange note, and she looked rather stunned by the spectacle of his supplication.

"My words are true," he said in a low, cracked voice. "Tarwë, I cannot bear to live without you." Again, he thought of the empty years stretching out before him, years without her, and it pierced the last reserve of strength he retained.

"Perhaps I am weak," he went on. "Perhaps I deserve your contempt. But I love you. To lose you is to lose all. You are . . . my all." Tears blurred his vision, but he made no attempt to wipe them away. He was beyond caring if she or anyone else saw this weakness. What difference did it make at this point?

She only looked at him, her beautiful face pale as carved marble. The wind pressed her cloak against the curves of her body while the others around them stood silent and waiting, like grey ghosts in the mist.

"You are everything to me," he pleaded. "Please do not leave me." He knew he looked pathetic kneeling there on the hard stone quay, but he had no other option. He took a deep breath. "Stay with me, Tarwë. Stay here and . . . be my wife. Please, my love. Bind with me."

It was the one thing he had most feared to say, the one thing that had stopped his throat the last time they had spoken, the risk of it nearly choking him. He had been weak before and he was weak now, but he had nothing left to lose. This was what he wanted with all of his being. He had always intended to take her as his wife, but in a vague, 'someday' sort of way. Distrust of himself had always held him back—he had never believed that he was ready, never had the faith he'd needed in himself, the belief that he could be what he should be for her. What she deserved.

But now he did—though it was probably too late. He braced himself for another rejection while at the same time praying as he had never prayed before.

"Oh, Lurien," she whispered. Her eyes held a sheen of tears.

What did those tears mean? Regret that she was about to wound him yet again? His heart slamming inside him, Lurien closed his eyes against the vision of her, knowing if she left him, it would be what he would always remember.

He heard the soft rustle of her cloak and then she was kneeling too, her hands reaching out to clasp his. Wild hope flared inside him.

"Do you mean this, Lurien?" she asked in a shaky voice. "Do you mean this from the bottom of your heart? Or is this just a trick to make me stay? I warn you, I can bear no more suffering."

He drew her fingers against his chest. "Nor can I," he said hoarsely. "This is no trick, but my heartfelt desire. I want you for my wife, Tarwë. I would bind myself to you for all time. My heart is more than ready to make this final pledge." He raised his voice. "And let all who hear my words bear witness."

"Finally, you have shown me strength," Tarwë said softly.

He gazed at her in confusion.

She squeezed his fingers. "You told me you loved me, but I never believed you truly meant it. I did not believe you knew what love was. Not the kind of love I feel for you, the kind of love that will last an eternity. Today you have shown more strength than I have ever seen in you."

"I know what love is, my Tarwë," he said huskily. He drew her gently to her feet and, with a sense of wonder, touched the tears on her cheek, gently wiping them away before tracing the delicate line of her cheekbone with her fingertips. To him, she was so perfect and so precious. "It has been a long and painful road," he admitted, "but there is nothing that could ever make me change my mind. My love for you runs deep and true. I swear upon this land and all that I hold dear that the passage of time will only make me love you more."

Tarwë leaned forward, her forehead resting on his temple. She was crying softly. "Then I will stay with you and be your wife, Lurien. I will not sail."

He drew her into his arms and cradled her against his chest. "You will never regret it, I swear. I will make sure you do not."

Neither of them noticed the smiles of those around them.

xxx

And so the ship sailed that day, but without Tarwë of Lórien. Those left standing on the shores watched until the graceful white sails were out of sight, each pondering whatever thoughts the scene brought forth, each involved with his or her own emotions.

Elanor saw with some amazement that Elrohir had remained by Lana's side. She would have gone to her sister after Haldir had held her for a moment or two, but by then Lana had had the comfort of the handsome Peredhel and so she had stayed with Haldir. Odd that Elladan had not joined his brother; they so often were together. Instead, Elrohir's twin stood some distance apart at the side of his father, Lord Elrond. But then perhaps that was not so odd at all; they had their own bittersweet memories in this place.

"What do you think it means?" she whispered to Haldir.

Haldir's mouth curved faintly. "It means that Elrohir has a kind heart. No more than that, Elanor. Elrond's son is not in love with your sister."

Elanor considered this and decided he was probably right. At this point Haldir excused himself and left her side to walk over to Lurien. She watched curiously as Haldir withdrew something from a hidden pocket of his tunic and handed it to Lurien with a few softly spoken words.

When he returned to her side, Elanor could not resist asking, "What was that, Haldir? What did you give to Lurien?"

"Something Galadriel directed me to give him, should Tarwë decide to remain behind."

"Do you know what it is?" She glanced up at him.

"No, but I can guess."

Elanor turned back to study the couple. "Tell me your guess."

"Rings," Haldir said quietly.

xxx

Other partings were taking place, for it was time for those journeying to Imladris to continue on, while those returning to Lothlórien would go back the way they had come.

"I know you will miss me," Elrohir told Lana, his small, crooked smile holding a touch of wickedness.

Lana regarded him with mixed feelings; she had disliked him so intensely for so long, but now what was she to think? His comforting arms had been most welcome, and had helped her through an ordeal she had not thought she could endure. "I will not miss your teasing," was the response she settled on.

"Are you so sure?" he asked mischievously. "I think you like the attention."

"I do not like being dangled over the edges of flets! Nor do I like being spanked!"

"It would not have been so bad," he informed her with a naughty glint in his eyes. "You might have enjoyed it."

"Forgive my brother." Elladan was grinning as he joined them. "He has a good heart and is embarrassed because he let you know it. 'Tis more fun for him to show you his outrageous side."

Feeling slightly cross with both of them, Lana looked back and forth between their beautiful, identical faces. How odd that she could so easily tell them apart , and yes, it had always been Elrohir who provoked her the most. She had always assumed it was because he despised her, but perhaps this was not so.

"I would not have enjoyed it," she said with huffy dignity. "However, I admit that when you are being pleasant and agreeable, I find your company acceptable."

"She likes us," Elrohir said smugly. "I knew it all along."

"She likes you better than she likes me," Elladan remarked.

"I know," Elrohir said modestly. "But I fear I cannot stay and woo you, my fair one. I have Orcs to slay and adventures to pursue, and I must take care of my father."

"I do not wish anyone to woo me!" Lana told them, not quite truthfully, but with spirit. "Do not feel sorry for me!"

Elrohir's expression gentled. "I do not feel sorry for you, sweetheart. I feel sorry for the one who is destined to be your mate." He laughed and stepped back quickly as she tried to smack him. "Now, now, none of that, my darling. I have already allowed you to strike me twice, and if there is ever a third time, I intend to defend myself."

Lana decided to let this pass, especially since Lord Elrond had arrived. What he must think of her, she dared not consider. "Farewell, my lord," she said in a small voice. "Thank you for everything you have done for my family."

The twins' father bowed his head politely. "You are welcome, Lanaewen. I wish you and Elanor well. May the Valar see you safely back to Lórien."

Lana bowed her head and touched her hand to her chest. "May the Valar see you safely back to Imladris." Squaring her shoulders, she turned to face Elrohir. "Thank you," she said simply. "You helped me even though I did not deserve it. I do wish you well. Stay safe."

He bowed and then to her surprise kissed her on the cheek. "Behave yourself," he said gruffly, and walked away.

Lana watched him go, reflecting that perhaps he was right and she might miss him . . . just a little.

Nearby, Elanor was saying her own goodbyes to two of her dearest friends as well as Túre, who had become another friend. Telrion and Minden stood before her with their cloaks open and their dark hair billowing in the breeze, looking so handsome and dear that she could feel herself getting quite emotional. As for Túre, she just looked blissfully happy to be with Telrion.

"I will miss you all," Elanor told them a bit forlornly.

Telrion hugged Elanor for a long moment before setting her back a step and flashing one of his irrepressible smiles. "I will miss you too, Ellie, more than I can say, but of course I am very glad for you." He looked at Haldir and then gave Elanor a wink. "I do feel I played a part in this romance of yours."

"We," Minden corrected cheerfully. "_We_ played a part."

Telrion grinned. "Minden and I both played a part, I should have said. We ought to get some credit, do you not think?"

"Yes," Elanor said wryly, a twinkle in her eyes, "you thought Haldir and I might form an attachment to each other. And so we have, but as to the credit, I am not so sure you naughty ellyn deserve it."

"This is a story I have not yet heard," Túre commented, with a glance at Telrion. She wore a daisy in her hair, no longer fresh, but Elanor had noticed Tel tucking it tenderly behind her ear each morning.

"Nor will you," her lover responded, with a tender squeeze on her hand. "At least not without Elanor and Haldir's consent. Even then, you would be sworn to secrecy."

"I think it is a story best left untold," Haldir stated, "for at least another millennia."

"Then suffice it to say that Min and I did a little matchmaking," Tel explained to Túre, who looked mystified but resigned.

Telrion glanced back at Elanor, his smile fading to a more serious look. "But at the same time, Ellie, I never thought it would mean that I would lose you."

Elanor reached out and hugged him tightly, and he hugged her back. "You have not lost me, Tel. We will meet again, many times."

"I know." Telrion glanced at Haldir, who stood by her side, who managed to look like he was guarding her without saying or doing anything. "You will send for us if he makes you unhappy," he said, only half jokingly.

"She will _not_ be unhappy," Haldir informed him firmly.

"Good," interjected Minden. "We will be watching."

Elanor rolled her eyes and gave first Minden and then Túre a hug. "Farewell, dear friends. We will meet again."

"Perhaps with our children," Telrion remarked.

The idea had Haldir lifting a brow. "Most likely long before that," he said dryly.

Elanor only smiled.

xxx

"'Twill be some time before I dare return to Lórien," Elladan remarked casually to his twin some hours later. Though there was little chance of danger, they had ridden ahead of the rest of their party to scout the area. All was quiet, giving them ample time to converse.

Elrohir arched a brow at his twin. "Oh? Why is that?"

"It must be something in the water," Elladan said pensively.

"Something in the water? You lost me."

Elladan clicked his tongue at his mount, directing it to stop trying to nibble the passing bushes. "Never have I seen so many betrothals and weddings in so short a span of time. Orophin and Doria, well, that one I suppose I can understand. He's long had his eye on her and she on him. But Rúmil and Nerwen! You must admit that is startling."

"Aye, that was unexpected," Elrohir admitted, thinking this over. "Never would I have anticipated that pairing."

"Nor would I. Now, Haldir and Elanor, that is also an odd mix, do you not think? He is aloof, arrogant, set in his ways, and experienced, while she is young, quiet, and inexperienced."

"I doubt she is inexperienced any longer," Elrohir said slyly.

Elladan laughed. "Nay, I think not. But still, 'tis an odd union."

"Perhaps." Elrohir sounded uninterested. "But they seem well suited and happy."

Elladan glanced back over his shoulder and saw that Telrion and Túre were far enough behind that there was no chance of being overheard. "There is another unexpected pairing," he remarked with a tilt of his head. "Who would have thought that such a sweet elleth existed beneath all that sourness? And since when did Telrion become so discerning? I've always stayed as far away from Túre as possible."

Elrohir shrugged. "So have I. But it seems that love has healed her wounds, whatever they were. What is your point?"

"If you would hearken to me, brother, you would see. Lurien and Tarwë are betrothed . . . or even wed by now, for all I know. Think about it, does that not seem bizarre to you?"

"Indeed it does. I never understood Lurien in the least, nor his appeal to the ellith."

"That is not the point. The point is that in less than one year, all these unions have taken place. There may be even more we do not know about."

Elrohir gave him a quizzical look. "This troubles you, brother. Why?"

Elladan's sharp-eyed gaze raked his twin's face. "You kissed Lana."

"So? It meant nothing. She is like a younger sister to me—one far younger and more irksome than Arwen."

"You are certain of this?" Elladan asked suspiciously. "You see her as a sister?"

Elrohir laughed long and hard. "Quite certain! Why, what did you think? That I was going to go courting in Lórien sometime soon? That little elleth has centuries of growing up to do. Besides, Grandmother told me something about her future."

Elladan stared. "She told you something she did not tell me? When was this?"

"The day after Haldir's wedding. I believe you were much occupied at the time by amorous pursuits. What was her name?"

Elladan brushed this aside. "Never mind that. What did Grandmother say?"

"Not much, really. She told me there is a warden who is destined for Lana, and that she would grow up eventually, and that we should stop harassing her. She did not tell me his name."

"Interesting. She told me something a little different the day before we left for the Grey Havens."

"She did?" It was Elrohir's turn to stare. "What did she say?"

"She said there was something in the water. The water in her _mirror_," Elladan added when his brother seemed about to laugh. "She told me that little Lana's future was not as certain as she thought. She said the warden would have a rival for her affections." He looked closely at his twin. "I assured her it would not be you or me."

"What did she say to that?" Elrohir demanded. For some indefinable reason he felt annoyed with both his brother and his grandmother.

"She only smiled," Elladan replied. "And that is why you and I, dear brother, will not be going back to Lórien for a very long time. I will NOT have that brat for a brother-wife! Let the warden have her."

Elrohir rolled his eyes. "You talk such nonsense, 'Dan. The rival will be old Hírion, mark my words. I have no interest in Lana."

"If you say so," Elladan said, with a sideways look at his twin.

xxx

Tarwë's return to Lórien was met by much surprise and considerable relief from all who knew and loved her. Lurien's return as her husband was, for the most part, greeted with cautious approval. He had expected heads to shake while people wondered what possessed Tarwë to make such a foolish decision, but instead it was the opposite and people wished them well. This heightened Lurien and Tarwë's happiness as they began their new life together as a married couple.

In the weeks and months that followed, Lurien set about to serve and contribute to the good of his people, making himself useful in whatever capacity he could find. His first project was of course his bridge, which he had always expected to have to build completely by himself. However, as his new and more humble ways became recognized, volunteers began to step forward to offer a helping hand, including a few sentinels whose friendship and respect he had thought he'd lost.

Others, too, offered to help, and among these was Rúmil, who bluntly told Lurien that he'd always thought he was a fool, but was glad to know he had been at least partially wrong. Lurien elected not to take offense, for he knew more than anyone just how great a fool he had been. Instead, he gladly accepted Rúmil's offer to help, knowing exactly where Rúmil's talents lay and how to use them. Therefore it was Rúmil who carved the majority of the elaborate floral designs on the vertical posts that would house the urns, although Lurien carved a fair number of them himself. Often seated nearby, watching and chatting while the ellyn worked, were Nerwen and Doria and sometimes Gwirith. As for Tarwë, she seldom strayed far from Lurien's side except when she was busy with her various duties; she and Lurien often exchanged intimate and heated looks that the others pretended not to notice, although they secretly smiled.

And so time passed. Lurien was as content as it was possible for him to be given the fact that he had lost his sword and his official position within the city. Yet he had gained more than he had ever expected—his beloved Tarwë as his wife—and not a day went by when he did not thank the Valar for the gift of her love. Tarwë fussed over him in a way she had never done before (most likely because he had not deserved it) and he found that he enjoyed it far more than his previous freedom to do what he liked with anyone he wished.

When the bridge was finally completed, and the urns filled with blooming elanor and other flowers, Lord Celeborn conducted a dignified ceremony dedicating it to Elanor, who blushed and quietly insisted she had done nothing to deserve such an honor. In his speech, Lord Celeborn stated that the bridge not only commemorated Elanor's valiant effort to save Haldir from danger, it would always serve as a reminder of the importance of following an honorable path. Lurien also made a short speech in which he apologized to all present for his actions and vowed to do better.

Time continued to flow by. Lurien found other pursuits in which he could make himself useful. He undertook various crafts and eventually found himself well pleased with the art of silvercraft, whereupon he settled happily into this niche and created jewelry that met with even Rúmil's critical approval. He spent weeks creating a delicate and complex weaving of fine silver threads that became an elaborate hair ornament for Tarwë, which he gave to her one night under the light of a full moon along with a fervent declaration of his devotion to her.

Life went along, with only occasional skirmishes for the border wardens to mar the serenity of life in Lórien. Elanor and Haldir's relationship continued to be loving and passionate, Healea continued to be Elanor's staunch friend and ally in all matters, Orophin and Doria married, Rúmil and Nerwen married, and Gwirith finally began to attract the eye of Beredain, much to their friends' relief.

As for Lanaewen, under Galadriel's gentle but firm guidance, she began to release the twin burdens of anger and fear that had haunted her for so long. Consequently, her relationship with Elanor changed to one that was more sisterly and loving; beneath her insecurities and jealousy, Lana had an innate sweetness, and she genuinely adored her sister and always had. Little by little, Lana began to fit in and make a few friends, although this did _not_ include a handsome but arrogant and maddening warden named Sarnion. Still, Lana was happy, although thoughts of a certain Peredhel did occasionally flutter through her thoughts. With Galadriel's encouragement, she began a course of study in the art of growing herbs and mixing poultices, finding it relaxing to learn under Hírion's patient supervision. Others might find him pompous, but she liked him because he liked her and because he expected her to do well and praised her when she did. It was that simple.

And then came a day when something happened.

Lurien was called before the same group of council members that had gathered at the time of his disgrace. Only Elrond was absent, but Haldir was present, although not seated as the others were. Unsure what was about to take place, Lurien stood tall and alert, not anxious but not complacent either. The sight of his sword lying on the council table had his heart beating fast with hope.

"Lurien of Lórien," Lord Celeborn said gravely, "much time has passed since you last held your sword. It is the opinion of those present that you have proven yourself worthy of its return. Are you ready to take it back? Are you prepared to use it only for the defense and welfare of our people?"

Lurien bowed his head respectfully. "I am, my lord."

"And do you vow to use it responsibly at all times?"

Lurien pressed his hand to his heart and bowed. "Aye, I so vow most solemnly. Never again will I taint my honor or raise my weapon against one of our people."

Lady Galadriel rose to her feet, and it was she who lifted the heavy sword and brought it over to him. Holding it flat on the palms of her hands, she said, "Take it, my friend. You have earned the right to it once more."

Lurien accepted his sword, knowing she understood the question in his eyes. "My lady?" he said.

Galadriel smiled faintly and nodded. "Yes, Lurien, you may resume your former duties as a Sentinel of Lórien if you so choose. However, there is one here who would make you another offer. Will you hear it?"

Lurien was puzzled. "Certainly. What is it?"

Still with that curious smile, Galadriel lifted her hand in a gesture toward Haldir, who took a step forward.

"Your skill with sword and bow is unparalleled," Haldir stated, his voice low and even. "I would be pleased if you would join me at the Fences as a warden of Lórien. We could use you, my friend."

Lurien stared at him in astonishment. He opened his mouth and then shut it again, unable to believe his former foe would speak such words. Never in his wildest dreams had he expected such an offer to be made.

"I am quite serious," Haldir said quietly. "Your fighting skills would be most valuable. But if you choose Sentinel duties, I will think no less of you."

"I would like to discuss it with Tarwë," Lurien said after a long pause. "This decision affects us both."

Haldir nodded briefly, his manner approving. "That is fair and right. I will await your answer then."

"If you join with Haldir," Lord Celeborn interjected, on a note of mild warning, "you would be serving under his command. Bear that in mind as you consider."

Lurien lifted his chin. "Understood, my lord. But I would like to point out that my skill with weapons is _not_ unparalleled."

Lord Celeborn's brows lifted. "Oh?"

"Haldir's skill is as great as my own," Lurien stated.

"But no greater." Haldir's eyes held a glint of humor.

"It is good to see them both so modest for a change," Lord Celeborn remarked dryly to his lady. "I cannot help but wonder how long it will last."

Galadriel smiled back at him. "Not long, if I am any judge of the matter. But their hearts are true and I have faith in each of them."

"Then let the meeting be adjourned. Lurien, you may give us your answer tomorrow."

xxx

"You must do as your heart wishes," Tarwë whispered later that night. They lay in bed, their arms wrapped around each other. "I want what you want, Lurien, though I will miss you should you decide to leave my side."

Lurien was silent, knowing that she had loved him to be here in the city working as a silversmith, close by and safe from harm. Yet all his life he had wanted only one thing—to be a warden. Finally, he admitted it to himself without the strong bitterness and resentment that he had felt for so long. When had those feelings vanished? He did not know.

She lifted her head and looked at him. "I am as strong as Elanor," she told him quietly. "I am as strong as Doria and Nerwen and others who are wed to wardens. If they can part with the ones they love for weeks or months at a time, then so can I."

"You are certain of this?" he murmured, touching her cheek. "I have caused you so much pain already, my sweet Tarwë. I have no wish to cause you more."

She sat up, bending over him so that the fall of her hair brushed his chest. Her eyes locked with his, a serious yet gentle look upon her face. "I could not live with myself if you gave up your dream because of me. All will be well, Lurien my love. I believe in you. I know you will be safe. I know that each time you leave you will come back to me, just as Orophin and Rúmil and Haldir return to their mates." She bent and kissed him on the lips. "You must choose what your heart desires."

xxx

And so it was that Lurien became a warden of Lórien. He served in that capacity for many long years, sustaining injuries only twice, which as Haldir would someday say was not at all bad for an ex-Sentinel. Eventually Lurien and Tarwë sailed to the Undying Lands on the same ship that bore away Elanor and Haldir and Túre and Telrion and many others of their friends and kin. They arrived safely in Aman and made new lives for themselves as well as quite a number of new elflings. Haldir and Elanor had two sons and two daughters, while Lurien and Tarwë had three daughters, Orophin and Doria had two sons, and Rúmil and Nerwen had one daughter and one son. As destiny would have it, Haldir's eldest son wed Lurien's youngest daughter, while Lurien's eldest daughter wed Rúmil's only son, so it was just as well that old feuds had been replaced by firm friendship and mutual respect. As for Lana, she did indeed marry and live happily, but which of her suitors she wed has unfortunately gone unrecorded in this history. Perhaps one day a new document may surface that will shed more light on her story.

Long before this, however, a new addition was made to a certain clearing in the Woods of Lórien. Oddly enough, the ninniach-loth plant that had visited Elanor during her convalescence had grown extremely fond of the elanor plant sitting next to it. The two plants had entwined their leaves together in such a way that they made their wishes clear. Accordingly, they were tenderly returned to the one place the ninniach-loth liked to grow, planted side by side in the glade of the ninniach-loth.

So it was that elanor grew and flourished amid the ninniach-loth, the yellow star-like blooms intermingled with the rainbow flowers as if they had always been together, whispering their secrets to the wind. And so it continued for as long as the magic remained.

And that was a very long time indeed.

THE END

xxx

Again, thank you to all readers! Stay tuned for my next Haldir story, _Mari's Song, _which I think I will be posting here, although that is not a certainty. If not, it will be posted in my yahoo group.


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